Hale-Meer Chronicles: The Vanguard Effect
by jerseydanielgibson
Summary: The Lion of Elysium has been missing for four years. Humanity has been granted a chance to sponsor its first SPECTRE candidates; MAJ Jennifer Hale and LtCdr Mark Meer. Mentored by Agents Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik, will they be enough to stop an age-old enemy that is being led by one of the best in the galaxy, to rattle the very fabric of the cosmos? Heavy AU/flip the script!
1. Inizio: Avanguardia

**Inizio: Avanguardia**

SSV _Lionheart_ , Ma-at System, Far Rim, June 6, 2179 1842 Zulu

"Translation successful, Commander." The pilot of the Corvette-Class SSV _Lionheart_ announced from the helm, the 140-meter ship bleeding its blue-shift emissions as the Galaxy Map of the CIC updated itself with the sensor readings of the Ma-at System. The FTL-translation from the Dholen System to the Ma-at System had been a tense one; the Far Rim belonged to the Geth. Though they had yet to encounter any of the synthetic Artificial Intelligence, it was surmised and thought that since the Far Rim was the only possible route into the Tikkun System of the Perseus Veil, that the Geth would be at the only entrance into 'their' homeworld in force. Surprisingly, that had not been the case, but it didn't relieve the tension that the fifty-eight man crew of the _Lionheart_ felt while entering through the heliosphere of the Ma-at System. The System was a small one, possessing only one planet, Ammut. A few other celestial objects existed within the system; comets, asteroids, a dust belt that ringed outside of Ammut's orbit. Otherwise... just a Class-G Yellow Dwarf Sun and an incredibly large gas giant, larger than Jupiter. The Commander supposed that Ammut probably destroyed any other celestial body in the System, considering that 'Ammut' was Quarian for 'Devourer'.

Nothing else existed.

"Flight Lieutenant? Bring us to sub-light, low emissions." The Commander ordered, tapping a few buttons at the console to her right, the Haptic computer displaying a few pieces of information. "I'm sending you the coordinates that we got from Sidon and Camala. Looks to be... _in_ Ammut, riding in the clouds. Bring us within .5 AU."

"Aye aye, Commander." The pilot looked back to acknowledge her commanding officer as she went back to piloting the Corvette. "Going at 7 AU an hour. ETA? Ten and a half hours."

"Good. Ops?"

"Nothing on the screen, Commander" Her XO rang out, the Lieutenant Commander working on his station as he read out several displays at his work station. "No communications, radio or tight beam. No comms buoy, no recon probes... not even a survey satellite. We won't pick up ship signatures at this distance yet, Commander, as we're too close to the systems' helioshock." The Commander nodded, knowing that they had just passed through the termination shock of the Ma-at System, where solar wind and interstellar wind collided, usually disrupting all sensors on ships of every kind and species. "From the look of things, systems' as quiet as the grave, skipper."

"Good. Keep me posted." The CO of the _Lionheart_ replied as she looked at the Map, frowning. "Set Condition Amber, four hour shifts, starting with Shift Bravo. Weapons? Have Disruptor Torpedoes charged, prime, and ready, main cannon at nil. Ops? Shields at 25%, radiate at 10%, scan at infrared and ultraviolet spectrums, passive only. ECHELON? Prepare Electronic Warfare Suite Sword and Shield, on stand-by." The various personnel running each department of the Corvette affirmed their orders as the Commander looked at her private terminal, at the sole blinking light that reminded her that it contained a message. It had come while they had entered into the Dholen System through the Relay, but the thought of being in Geth Space had precluded her from indulging access to the vid file that was sent to her. "XO? You have the Con. I'll be in my ready room... my sister messaged me." Those last words were for her XO's ears alone, softly-spoken. The Lieutenant Commander's face turned from one of duty to sympathy.

"How is she?" He asked, a touch of concern in his voice. Everyone aboard the _Lionheart_ knew who the Commanders' sister was... and what had happened to her four months before. But only the XO knew of the subsequent disastrous conversation between the sisters.

"Not good." She admitted bitterly, regret in her voice. "I didn't help things, either."

"Message her. Talk to her." The Lieutenant Commander suggested, looking to his Commander with a knowing nod of his head. "Everyone else is giving her flak. She could use a little encouragement."

"I know. I just..." The Commander sighed, thinking of her sister. Despite everything that had happened on that moon, she still loved her sister. How would she have done things if it had been her? Would things have gone better? Worse? Would she have made the same choices? Or would different choices have led to a worst disaster? She knew what the media was calling her sister; a monster, a murderer, a butcher. And she had flung it right into Jen's face, heaped with scorn and anger. Her sister had done something incredible, just like she herself had almost three years before. The difference between them? She had been lauded for her actions on Elysium, while Jen was being vilified for her role on Torfan. _Oh, Jen... what happened down on that moon?_ The Commander thought, pain and sorrow lancing through her heart as she thought of her only sibling, the woman she first met at sixteen. _Were you like me? Desperate to succeed? Or were things so out of hand and out of control that you had no other choice?_ "I'll message her and send it back as soon as we reach Dholen again. I'm getting rather tired of this fools' gold chase. I should go."

* * *

" _Jannie... Jannie, wherever you are, I'm... I'm so_ sorry! _I tried... so hard. They picked me for this, knew that I'm the best at what I do. I volunteered for it... responsible for it. I..."_ The Commander watched as she saw her sister break down, tears flooding her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks, wiping away the one on her unblemished cheek, while the one that ran down the diagonal scar that went from hairline to opposite jawline was left alone. _"It... it was a trap, Jannie; they made it just for me. Knew I would come, that I wouldn't back down or let it slide. They... they had goddamn_ _suicide bombers_ _! Slaves! POWs! They would just throw up their hands and detonate themselves among us. I..."_ Her sisters' voice broke again as the vid showed her curled up in a chair, hugging her knees to her chest. _"I... killed them. Every single one of them. I didn't know what else to do! So many of my men were dead, Jannie... my Battalion was decimated by the first wave of martyrs. I only had a couple hundred men left... and I gave the order."_ Jen's head went to her knees as she cried, sobbing for a few moments. _"They're going to award me the Order of Luna for executing Batarian slaves strapped with bombs! For killing prisoners of war! Major Kyle flipped his shit and wouldn't respond, wouldn't send in his men to assist! I... I lost seventy percent of my men, Jannie, and they're going to give me a fucking award. It took me... a week to write all the condolence letters. Maybe Al-Jilani is right. Maybe I am nothing more than a butcher."_ She watched as her sister took a bottle to her lips, the label indicating that it was cheap whiskey as a large portion was guzzled. _"Hannah... Hannah called. I... I couldn't look her in the eye. Couldn't... not after what happened with you. Hegemony's howling for my head, but Grissom won't cave. Told me that himself while I was recovering."_ Another slug of whiskey, and it broke the Commander's heart. _"Is this all that I'm good at, all I'm good for? Did I really survive so much just so I could become a fucking monster? A butcher?"_ Another drink, the bottle now half-empty. _"What was the fucking point of surviving Mindoir? Maybe I should have_ died _like my family, with my family! Maybe I would be free of the pain and the nightmares and this_ fucking _shithole of a galaxy!"_ The bottle went flying towards some wall off-screen, and the Commander heard the musical shattering of glass breaking. Her sister put her elbows on a table, holding her head in her hands as she sobbed loudly. _"It wasn't the bombs that hurt, not the executions, not the accusations or the media labeling me 'the Butcher of Torfan'. Of all the things that hurt, it was my sister who did the worst."_

"I'm sorry." The Commander whispered, touching the screen where her sisters' image was presented, her features tortured.

 _"If you ever want to message me..."_ Jen continued, _"I'll respond. If you don't... I... I understand if you don't want to associate with a murderer, and I'll never contact you again."_ The woman on the screen pulled her head up from her hands as she chewed on her lower lip. _"I lo... I... I should go."_

The vid went black.

"Oh, Jen..." The Commander felt the grief in her heart twist, her sister's accusations not unfounded. Jen had been in the hospital, recovering, when the Sailor had visited the Marine. It had been two weeks after that disastrous raid, and she hadn't even stop to listen to Jen talk as she started throwing accusation after accusation. Murderer. Executioner. Child-killer. Butcher. Those words had flowed from her mouth like water from a broken dam, and Jen, confined to a hospital bed both from her injuries and a handcuff to the bed's railing, could do nothing else but listen to the tirade. Tensions were high between the Alliance and the Hegemony, and it looked like war was inevitable. What had truly bothered the Commander, though, was that the whole scenario sounded just like what someone who lived for vengeance would want; the chance to strike pain into those that had pained others. Jen... Jen had survived Mindoir. Torfan sounded like a dream come true; the chance to exact revenge in the same manner. The Commander hadn't even listened to her sister when she visited her in her hospital room, being treated like a criminal, using poisonous words on an already damaged soul.

Her sister _needed_ here, now more than ever. What a fool she had been.

"Jen? It's me... it's Jannie." The Commander started recording her own vid in her ready room, sitting at her chair, thinking of all she heard. "I... I got your message. I'm out in the Terminus, following a lead ONI received out in the Skyllian Verge, and now we're way out here in the black. I... I'm the one that should be sorry, Jen, not you. You... you've always had the tougher road, had to earn everything you've every accomplished. I wasn't there on Torfan, and I shouldn't be the one to judge you for the actions you _needed_ to take, to accomplish the mission, to get you and your men out alive. I... hadn't heard that they were using suicide bombers, just that... you were executing people." She had to take a pause for breath, to fight the tears that wanted to spill out. "Jen, you are my sister, and you'll always be my sister. I still remember the first day I met you nine years ago. I knew right then and there that you were something special, that you could accomplish so much. I believe in you, Jen. I'm sorry I let my mouth get the better of me... no, that's isn't exactly true. When I first heard... I was furious. I... I thought you lost it. How many slave outposts and ships have you tackled, and you never did anything like that before. I let _them_ get to the better of me, and turned my back on the one person who has been there for me ever since we were teenagers. I love you, Jen, and I am proud of you. I... you deserve better than what I gave you, sister. When I come back, I swear I'll do my damnedest to make it up to you. Peace be unto you, Jen." The Commander ended the vid message, and the ache in her heart slowly lessened, the weight of it not nearly so heavy. She had done the right thing, finally. She set the console's settings to send the message out automatically as soon as they got near a comm buoy.

" _Commander!_ " The voice of her XO came from the intercom, surprising her. " _We've got a signature! You need to come look at this!"_

"I'm on my way." The CO of the _Lionheart_ rose from her seat, the excitement in the Lieutenant Commanders' voice obvious. Had they finally found it after three long weeks of searching? Everything after the ONI-sanctioned mission on Sidon had been one misstep after another, unable to catch their prey. The Commander jogged from her ready room, up a flight of stairs, and into the bridge, where she could immediately tell by the buzz of the Alliance Navy personnel that something was indeed going on. She went to the command chair and began accessing her chairs' arm display unit, bringing up various views of the separate departments' work stations.

In the depths of Ammut was their prize.

It was massive, an object well over two kilometers in length, larger and more massive than any other ship in the galaxy, including the Asari _Destiny Ascension_. The Commander looked at the passive scan that was viewed from thermal difference conduction emissions from Ammut, seeing the shape of the object as a large, black void. Various readouts were coming back as her eyes scanned the readouts, the marquee of information spitting out more information than her station could keep up with, spilling out onto another Haptic screen. What she read had her eyes widen.

"Ops? Am I reading this energy output signal correctly?" The CO asked, looking to her XO, who nodded. According to the read-out, the object was exuding more power than all of Arcturus! "How is that possible? This object is suppose to be inert!"

"Perhaps to keep it from falling into Ammut?" The XO theorized as an alarm rang from his station, making the man pale when he clicked on it. "Ma'am! The object! It's moving!"

"What?" The Commander looked at the read-out, and was shocked to see that it was building up speed... and quickly. _But that's impossible! It accelerated from zero to past the speed of light immediately! No one can accelerate that quickly without ripping their ship apart!_ "Flight Lieutenant! Slingshot the gas giant, max speed, push us in the red! Full radiate, full shields! Weapons! Charge main cannon, and give me a solution for the torpedoes, post haste!" The _Lionheart_ began to shudder as it built up momentum quicker than was safely advised, diving towards Ammut at an angle, using the gravity well of the gas giant to build up speed as the object broke through the cloud barrier. Now out of the gas giants' grasp, she was able to get a more accurate read-out of the object... of the _vessel_ that now moved towards them, closing the distance rapidly. "Lieutenant! Get us out of here! NOW!"

 **BBBBBBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMM!**

Everyone aboard the Corvette-Class ship screamed in pain as a deep, brass note passed through the ship, like the choir of the damned shrieking doom, nails upon a chalkboard running through their minds and souls. Several Sailors collapsed as others wept in agony. The Commander fought against blacking out as she overrode safety protocols, spooling the FTL thrusters of the _Lionheart_ ; a suicidal folly so close to a gas giant.

"All hands! Prepare to pull massive G's!" The Lion of Elysium announced through gritted teeth, typing in her code to authorize the highly-dangerous maneuver. If the angle was too steep, she would be shooting them into the crush depth of the gas giant in no time. If it were too shallow, they'ed bounce off and lose speed and maneuverability, making them sitting ducks. If they were right... they'd FTL through the gravity well, using the gas giants' pull to slingshot them faster and further than even a Corvette was capable of. The _Lionheart_ would undoubtedly take stress fractures and ruptures, not to mention the crew members would probably suffer minor breaks and massive nausea, but it was preferable to death. "FTL! In three! Two! One..."

 **BBBBBBBBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMM!**

The unearthly noise rang out again, and this time, most of the crew members were slumped to the deck of the Corvette, many of them bleeding from the ears as unconsciousness swept through most of the ship. The Commander screamed in agony as she fought off the encroaching darkness that threatened to knock her out, the ship still sailing towards Ammut at sub-light. She felt something dribbling down her chin, and when she wiped at her nose, the Commander was surprisingly detached at the sight of her own blood leaking heavily from her nostrils. She reached a bloody hand towards her displays, where she had yet to activate the emergency blue shift protocols to escape as the object grew ever closer. Only a tenth of an AU away...

 **BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!**

The Commander struggled to stay awake, forcing herself back into consciousness as the darkness threatened to obliterate her. She stood from her command chair, her body sluggish and almost unresponsive as her unfocused eyes noted passively that everyone else on the bridge had collapsed and fallen to the deck, knocked-out by the strange attack by the object. The CO of the _Lionheart_ was dimly aware that they were all going to die, that this farce of a mission was going to kill them all. The Galaxy Map changed to show the object growing closer, looming in front of her, its electronic representation bringing a horror to her that she had never known before as segments of the bow began to spread open like a grasping hand, ready to snatch them all into the grave as the center of the bow began to charge up into a glow of hellish light, the vessels' main cannon preparing to fire on the Corvette.

The Commanders' final thought was that she regretted that the message to her sister would never be sent, that Jen would think she died hating her.

* * *

Alliance Forces Network; Serving Sol Since 2147! Like Us On SpaceBook, Flitter, ExtraGram, LinkdUp!

#AFN, #LionElysium, #Shepard, #Lionheart

 **COMMANDER SHEPARD M.I.A.**

August 27, 2179

Fleet Master Jon Grissom of Arcturus Station confirmed rumors today of the disappearance of the SSV _Lionheart_ , CO'ed by Commander Jane Shepard, the Lion of Elysium. On a peacekeeping mission in the Petra Nebula, the _Lionheart_ went out of contact over three months prior after last transmissions put it over the planet of Sidon. Alliance and Independent Earth vessels have scoured the Vetus system and its planets in search of the Corvette, crewed by over seventy Alliance Sailors and Marines, with no success. This is what Fleet Master Grissom had to say at an earlier press conference.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press... we've searched the entirety of the Vetus System, swept every rock, probed every hole, and combed every space dust field. The _Lionheart_ is nowhere to be found. There were no distress beacons, no emergency signals, no escape pods, no crash site, and no debris field. After two months of extensive and exhausted searching... I've had to call it. The _Lionheart_ , its crew, and the Lion, are officially Missing In Action, and further searches done by the Alliance Military will be suspended permanently until further proof can be established." (pause) "The Lion... she's gone. Don't know how or where, but I'm not optimistic. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to drink my Goddamn sorrows away, so don't bother with questions. That will be all."

Commander Jane Shepard, 25, rose quickly to galactic popularity after the famed Assault of Elysium, where a conglomerate band of pirates, mercenaries, bandits, slavers, and gunmen assaulted Bernard, Elysium. Then-1st Lieutenant Shepard was credited with the defense of the city, rallying militia, Colonial Army, Elysium Frontier Marshals and the civil servicemen, evacuating colonists and fighting off enemy forces for twenty hours before Fourth Fleet came into the colony's aid. Awarded the Star of Terra for her actions, Commander Shepard was brought into the galactic spotlight, becoming a symbol that many among humanity believed to be the best and brightest that Earth had to offer, nicknaming her the Lion of Elysium. Today is indeed a sad day for Earth and the Alliance with the Lion now gone.

Commander Jane Shepard is survived by her mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, Lead Navigator of the SSV _Kilimanjaro_ , and her adopted sister, Major Jennifer Hale, the infamous Butcher of Torfan, who was recently awarded the Order of Luna and given command of the 2nd Battalion Tactical Response Unit of Pennacle Station under Admiral Tadius Ahern.

 _Ssgt Raphael Sbarge, Staff Writer._

* * *

A/N: The title of the chapter, _Inizio: Avanguardia_ , is Italian. It stands for _Beginning: Vanguard_.

The Corvette-Class doesn't exist in the ME-verse, but was something I originally worked up in my Battle Series, and used in my Mass Effect vs. Aliens/Valkyrieverse series, based off the American Navy Corvette vessel. It is smaller than a Frigate, and is used for harassment and 'infiltration', as the heat output is low, and can be missed due to running at a lower energy state than most warships. It is exclusively Alliance, much like the Carrier, and are knicknamed 'Knuckledusters' for their short-range distruptor torpedoes, forcing the Corvette to fight at knife-range.

I tried going for that sound; you know, the one in ME 3 that had you scurring about like a rat in the maze because you pulsed your little search option one too many times? Describing it in words was hard, but those folks from Eden Prime, the one that tell you about Powell, came up with the description 'sounded like the choir of the damned' is as good as any, though in reality, it is a series of string and brass instruments that make that BWUM! noise.

I used several modern references for H/M'verse, as well as borrowing some from Valkyrieverse. Armed Forces Network is, in fact, an actual news agency, operated and manned by American Military personnel, which I change to Alliance Forces Network. 'Spacebook' is Facebook, 'Flitter' is Twitter, 'ExtraGram' is InstaGram, and 'LinkdUp' is LinkdIn'. Hashtags evidently still exist. Still to this day, I never have, nor will I ever, use Twitter. I just find it amusing to throw them up there.

Raphael Sbarge is a real person, the voice actor for Carth Onasi of KOTOR and Kaiden Alenko of Mass Effect. I suspect that since I will be using Jennifer Hale and Mark Meer (both Shep's voice actors) as characters, that I'll find a way to insert some of the others, such as Seth Green, Lance Henderikson, Keith David, Tricia Helfer and Kimberly Brooks, into the mix as well.


	2. Hale: Office of Naval Personnel

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Hale, Office Of Naval Personnel**

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 19, 2183, 1034 Arcturus

Major Jennifer Hale (SAMC) stood at parade rest in her Dress Blues, standing in formation with seven other Marines and Sailors in the simple conference room populated by a large metal table, chairs, and twenty-three people. Each of Marines and Sailors standing at parade rest were in either their Dress Whites or Dress Blues, standing alongside Major Hale, each of them looking forward as they looked upon a panel of five military men and two civilians at the metal table; three Admirals, one General, and the Fleet Master himself, High Admiral Jon Grissom. The other two on the panel, the non-voting members that sat on the outsides of the table, were the civilians. Hale recognized one of them as the Minister of Defense, Charles Schwartz, the right hand man of the President, POSA Adam Holstein. The other she didn't recognize immediately, but she knew she had seen him on the vids and extranet before, and knew that he was a part of the human embassy at the Citadel. Behind the line of Marines and Sailors in Dress Whites were more Marines and Sailors in chairs, higher ranking than the ones standing. These were sponsors; the Commanding Officers of the men and women in front of the panel. Some were Captains, some were Colonels, and there was an Admiral of the Navy and a General of the Marines as well. For the seven in their Dress Whites and Blues, this was a Board; records and personnel files notwithstanding, they were being judged for who they were, and the answers they would give. The five military members had datapads and paper records, each emblazoned 'SECRET - CLASSIFIED' in red; red frames for the datapads, and the old fashioned stamp for the papers. The papers and files were spread out, and the datapads looked at, their Haptic screens on and projecting any who wished them read. The remaining two weren't even human, Turian males that stood at opposite corners, the lights dimmed for them for an added veil of secrecy and disguise. That had Hale both surprised and thoughtful; Counsel minders? It couldn't be anything else, since the Counsel let the various militaries of the Counsel species to run as they wish without any serious oversight.

"Commander Daniel Madison."

The man in question took one full step forward, identified and ready as he stood at attention, and offering a quick snap of a salute to the Board, dropping it a few seconds later. Commander Daniel Madison, a decorated war hero known for his actions against pirates and smugglers on the edges of the frontier of Citadel Space and the Attican Traverse. The Board asked him short, simple questions, and Commander Madison gave short, simple answers. Nothing was surprising or alarming about it, Major Hale thought to herself as she kept her eyes forward, generally looking above the heads of the seated members of the Board. The benign questions about his service record and some insight of some of his actions were expected, and Madison answered like a pro, if lackluster. When the questions were done about five minutes later, the Fleet Master concluded that they were done, and Commander Madison saluted once more before taking a step back into line.

"Lieutenant Commander Thuy Nguyen."

Hale knew the name, and almost smiled; the Shadow herself was here. Commander Nguyen was a computer programmer and systems analyst, fancy talk for a hacker. What N7's did with guns and battlefields, Commander Nguyen did with viruses and security. Like with Madison, Nguyen was asked a series of question more pertained to her area of expertise, her answers short and perfunctory. The five minutes were up, and Lieutenant Commander Nguyen stepped back into line, and though Jennifer didn't look at the Vietnamese woman, she could tell that Thuy was satisfied how things went.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mikael Dravonich."

That name had Hale almost grimace as a man of obvious Russian heritage stepped forward, giving off his own salute. Dravonich the Destroyer, one of the ground commanders of the Skyllian Blitz, had hunted down some of the surviving pirates who had escaped and retreated from Elysium to LV-224, to lick their wounds in their bases. Then Marine Captain Mikael Dravonich laid siege to several of those bases, killing everyone inside, never asking for surrender, prisoners, or quarter. He would have had as sordid a reputation as hers save that the raids occurred mere days after Elysium, when everyone was reeling from the news of the attack. Dravonich had walked away as a hero instead of a mass murderer, though it seemed that his heavy-handed tactics were starting to get noticed after so many years. The questions the Board asked Dravonich were as benign as Madisons', though they seemed to have intentionally missed asking anything about the Great Pirate Hunt. When they were finished with him, Dravonich saluted and returned to the line.

"Lieutenant Colonel Sara Carter."

Sara Carter was not nearly notorious as some of the others, yet Colonel Carter was no less a force in her own right. A biotic powerhouse, Carter was sent to places that the fighting was guaranteed to be fierce and bloody. Dubbed 'Samson' by the rank-and-file Marines that she served and led, she was always at the front of a fight with her larger-than-humanly-possible, stronger-than-normal barriers shielding them, and her shockwaves thinning out the opposition. Hale approved of Sara Carter; she was a Marine that led from the front, cared for her men, and was fierce in battle. Her line of questioning was rather favorable, and of all the people in the line, the only thing Sara Carter lacked was notoriety.

"Lieutenant Commander Paulo Fonzarelli."

Paulo Fonzarelli, a.k.a. the Italian Stallion. He was well-known for going after pirate and smuggler transports, and had a nearly unblemished record as a Naval Commander of an Alliance Corvette. The Major had served in several ships with him either as the XO or the Commanding Officer, and she was well-acquainted with his views of of pirates and slavers. If she were into men, she didn't doubt that she would have found herself in a relationship with the man, their point of views being quite similar.

"Lieutenant Commander John Forsythe."

That was a name that Jennifer Hale hadn't expected to hear in such company. She had seen him when she had entered the Boardroom, she had been surprised to see him, the man she had first met in OCS. He was a good man who had unfortunately had a bad past; the Benning Incident. A colony revolt gone horribly wrong, John Forsythe had been in charge of pacifying the locals, which from what Hale understood, he had took to mean in a peaceful manner. Unfortunately, the man in charge of the battle group, Commander William Barlow, had given him the orders to shoot the revolting colonists. Forsythe had won himself a nice accommodation for not only _not_ following orders, but for negotiating with the rebel leadership, and convincing them to stand down without any bloodshed. Barlow had been sacked, and Forsythe earned himself a nice 15-minute fame of being the 'nice guy' of the Alliance. Unfortunately, Alliance Brass had to swallow some crow for that incident; they didn't like someone who buck orders, even if it were the right thing to do. But because the situation ended in the best scenario possible, they were forced to promote him both in the publics' eyes, and in rank as well.

"Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer."

That asshat.

Major Hale did her best not to let any emotion show, suppressing a grunt and a sigh as a towering man took a step forward, his position of attention and salute picture perfect, his tan beret perfect on his shaved head. Commander Meer, the Hero of Akuze, poster child of the Alliance, and the only human known to have fought a Thresher Maw on foot and survived. It wasn't hard for one to see his face staring out from a recruiting poster or a promotional video, that famous smile of his smattered all over the place. The N7 hated the man for years; they had been in OCS, and had even gone to Rio de Janeiro together, unfortunately. The man was an egotistical, chauvinistic xenophobe whose only mission was himself, first, last, and forever. So when Commander Meer stood in front of the Board, his Dress Whites flawless, his stance perfect, the Major had to work really hard to maintain her composure, as oppose to walking two steps and giving the man a swift cockkick from behind. That image made her mentally smile. Unfortunately, the five minutes of questioning had gone the way Major Hale thought it would with the toolbag; an endless parade on how Mark Meer thought himself the most glorious human being in existence. The gall of the man! If his answers were of any indication, then his Marines and Sailors did nothing while he completed the mission, single-handedly.

Fucking toolbag.

Each person was called, questions were asked, and answers given. All in all, pretty benign stuff, normal for a Board. A Board of this caliber, headed by none other than Jon Grissom himself? Probably not. Hale didn't know what the Board was about; supposedly, the Admiralty Board was to select from a small composition of Sailors and Marines for something big. A Task Force, unless the Major missed her guess, probably some big public push that would make the Alliance look good. That's all she needed, to be a part of some political postulating to make the Prime Minister or the President look like they were doing something. Last time that happened, she had found herself the ground commander at Torfan. Meer, saluted after his round of questioning, and she knew it was her turn. This was going to be fun.

"Major Jennifer Hale."

The N7 Marine let off a silent breath of preparation as she took a step forward, unconsciously aware of her sponsor, Captain Hannah Shepard, XO of the SSV _Kilimanjaro_. Hale stood in perfect attention, and executed a picture-perfect salute, the blade of her fingertips going to the band of her green beret, her hand tilted at the correct angle. She saluted the Old Man himself, and Jon Grissom gave off a rare warm smile, returning the salute from his seat as the Major dropped her hand to her side, remaining in the position of attention. Hale was conscious of everything; the eyes at her back of the sponsors and the Marines and Sailors she stood beside, the General and Admirals in front of her, the two civilians at the sides of the table, the two Turians in their corners, and the ribbon around her neck, the medal of the Order of Luna heavy around her neck. Her Dress Blues, immaculately cleaned and pressed, with her heavy salad bar on her left showing off every award and accommodation she had ever earned eclipsed by the heavy silver medallion that dangled from its deep blue ribbon, the second highest award a human could earn. This all occurred in a second, yet Jen was nervous, and time seemed to slow to a crawl.

"It's good to see you again, Major." Fleet Master Jon Grissom announced, looking at the Major with appraising eyes, that rare smile of his still on his face. "It's been… four years?"

"Yes, sir. While I was recuperating from the mission on Torfan." Jen answered, her answer pure military, no familiarization in her tone or words whatsoever. Admiral Grissom could talk to anybody he wanted in any damn tone he pleased, but little Major Jennifer Hale of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps didn't have such luxuries.

"Still doing your best to wipe slavery off the face of the galaxy?" The old man's tone was amused, his cool, blue eyes sparkling as he directed the question at her. What was he driving at? The others had questions that pertained to their jobs and accomplishments, but she was being… chatted to.

"I'll give the Batarians credit, sir; they are both persistent and stubborn." That had more than a few people in the room chuckle, and Hale could hear one of the Turian laughing, his duel-toned voice announcing itself to human ears from its strangeness. There were few humans who could stand Blinks and Slugs, and the Major doubted anyone in the room didn't know her stance on the Hegemony.

"I heard you just came back from a successful raid, Major. That you captured quite a number of Batarians and rescued quite a few slaves." Admiral Grissom brought up, and Hale felt a little bit better. This was territory more appropriate for the Board.

"That is correct, sir. I captured one hundred and thirty-two raiders, thirty-seven overseers, two hundred and fifty-nine guards, and five hundred and nineteen handlers. Nine hundred and forty-seven in all." The Major answered confidently, knowing the numbers exactly. "I rescued over five thousand slaves off of Tovosk. Five thousand and eighty-nine, to be exact. Sixty percent were human, while there were about ten percent Asari, Salarian, Elcor, and Turian. Unfortunately, all the Batarian slaves were completely complacent to their masters, and chewed out their own tongues or cut open their throats with sharp rocks before being rescued by the 'Butcher'." That had Hale pause, remembering seeing the bodies. "There were over three thousand Batarian slaves. Three thousand, four hundred and sixty-four, all dead by their own hand. Ordered to do so, unless I miss my guess."

"Jesus Christ." That came from somewhere in the back of the room, where one of the sponsors had accidentally spoken out. Not that anyone blamed the man. Mass suicide among the Batarian slaves was a new thing to that humanity had to consider, something that Hale learned to her regret.

"I am genuinely sorry to hear that. I know what rescuing slaves means to you, Major." Fleet Master Jon Grissom said, his voice thick. "Were… were any from Mindoir? Any more names crossed from your list?"

"Thirty-two confirmed dead, and one still alive, sir. Marian Mollette." The N7 replied, and that had everyone that wasn't being reviewed by the Board looking at one another, the room absolutely dead silent. A rescued slave of… thirteen years? "She… she was my high school teacher, sir." Major Jennifer Hale added unnecessarily, frowning at herself. She was suppose to be better than this, but it was her life. "We are still collecting information on her, any intelligence we can glean about Khar'shan. Slaver posts. Drop-off points. News. Others she might remember. She is… fragile, as to be expected. A ghost of the woman I once knew. But rescuing her? Freeing her?" The Marine took a deep breath and closed her eyes, remembering when she pulled the woman out of the cage herself, having recognized her. Marian Mollette hadn't recognized Jen by sight, but she had responded to the Majors' name, and had probably cried her first tears of joy in over thirteen years. A familiar name. A familiar face. Being held by a survivor of a slave raid that had rescued a slave that hadn't been as lucky. It had been an emotional moment for the both of them, but it was more than worth it. "One hundred and fourteen names left, sir. Six hundred and eighty-four confirmed dead… and thirty-nine rescued. Out of eight hundred and thirty-seven."

"You're never going to stop, are you?" This came from one of the civilians at the table to the left of Grissom, and earned himself a dirty look from the Fleet Master and both of the Marine Generals. Hale didn't answer with words. Instead, she pulled out of her left back pocket an old-fashioned wallet, made out of honest-to-God cow leather. Opening up the bill fold, she pulled out three sheets of paper, each of them filled with names in small, fine, precise print. The papers went on the table, many of the names crossed out, while several stood unmarked and mute, and a very few were circled. The seven men at the table looked at the papers, and only Jon Grissom picked them up, seeing how frayed they were, their edges dogged-eared and having been folded many times over. To the Major's surprise, the Fleet Master looked at each page, flipping it front to back, and then moving to the next. When he reached the last name, his eyes focused upon the wallet that she held in her hands.

"That's a man's wallet. Your father's?" The old man asked, and had it been anyone else in the galaxy, Hale probably wouldn't have answered. But Grissom understood. He always had.

"He made it for my brother's eighteenth birthday present from one of our cows, sir." Hale found that her voice failed her for a moment, and she had to clear her throat. "Stretched, cleaned, tanned, and dyed it himself, and then made it and wrapped it up. Robert… never got a chance to open it, to see it, to hold it in his hands. He died trying to save me, following my father's dying wish." The Major cleared her throat again, her voice having grown husky from the thoughts of the past. "I'm never going to stop until every damn name on that list has been either crossed out as a confirmation of their death, or circled because they were rescued. Batarians aren't going to stop enslaving them, or go easier on them, or give them an off day."

"I noticed a new name at the bottom, recently added." Admiral Grissom pointed out, not bother to show it off. The others hadn't bothered to trying to look at them before, and the Fleet Master wasn't about to share now. "You're still looking for her, after all this time? The Alliance has declared her…"

"I don't care." Jennifer's anger and temper got the best of her, rudely interrupting the highest-ranking and most decorated man in the Systems Alliance. The Admirals and Generals at the table exchanged looks amongst themselves, but Grissom's eyes stayed on her, his face never changing. "You want to think she's dead without seeing her body? That's your prerogative. I will find her one day, probably disguised as a Terminus Warlord drinking beer out of the skull of a Krogan she just killed with her bare hands. And you'll know if she were killed, probably on top of a mountain of corpses of slavers, mercs and pirates, with half the planet on fire. She isn't dead. There probably isn't a dozen people in the entire galaxy good enough to kill her. Too many people know how good she is to think that she might die and some planet isn't having a fuck-crazy orgy in celebration that you couldn't see off from the Core. There would be rumor and talk. There hasn't been one _single_ word, Admiral; not even from a friend of a bondmate who hired an Asari prostitute buying from someone who was hooked up with Red Sand and licking the back of a Salarian." That had the same civilian who had questioned her want of stopping slavery make a bit of a choking noise, his eyes slightly bulging out of his head from indignation. Someone didn't like potty language, Jen thought to herself as one of the Marine Generals took a look at said civilian and fired off a dirty scowl in his direction. "Jannie's alive, sir. Only because nobody's parading around with her severed head. Until that day? I'm looking for my sister."

The room was silent. That probably wasn't a good thing, Hale groaned mentally. She stuck her boot in her mouth. Again.

"I have a question." The came from the civilian she didn't know, the one who had questioned her before, clearing his throat to indicate that he was about to talk. "Your records indicate that you've been active in all of Alliance Space, as well as a significant portion of Outer Counsel Space, and most notably in areas bordering Hegemony Space and the Attican Traverse. You've interacted with quite an impressive number of people from many walks of life, been in a considerable amount of situations, and deal with scenarios that most do not deal with in their entire lives. As Admiral Grissom has made clear your stance on slavery, not to mention your own reputation, do you believe that your actions and your beliefs are in the benefit of humanity, or merely your own personal… vendettas?"

Major Jennifer Hale looked upon the man who had asked her that question, one that hadn't been asked any of the others. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It seemed like a pretty decent question, she guessed, especially considering her past. What they wanted to know was if she was going to be an embarrassment to the Alliance or whatever they had in mind. Probably some alien co-op bullshit where humans and whoever else would work side-by-side to accomplish some goal to please whoever was the current saber-rattler of the day. Knowing of the two Turians in the corners, as well as their race's predilections towards martial thoughts and actions, it wasn't hard for her to put two-and-two together and get 'Human-Turian Task Force'. Twenty-six years after the First Contact War, and the Counsel, the Hierarchy, and the Alliance had been making tiny footsteps towards some real reconciliation over their differences. Considering it had been the human diplomat from the Citadel who had asked the question, Jen could only guess that whatever they had in mind would probably involve Turians. Probably some Asari, too.

"Sir, despite what you call my 'personal vendettas'," the Major began, trying to keep the dry tone from her words, "I have done nothing to embarrass myself, the Alliance military, or humanity. Sure, the news media gives me flak for Torfan, but they sure do like to miss the opportunity to tell their viewer that I have rescued almost _one hundred thousand_ slaves and kidnapped persons of various races in total. And because I am a member of the Alliance Military, I do not get to collect the cash bounty for saving a slave from any of the persons' respective governments, which means that with the exception of what the Alliance gives me as a paycheck, I do not receive a nickel from the Republic when I save a Maiden, or the Union for a Salarian, or the Primacy for a Drell or a Hanar. News doesn't cover that, do they?" Hale looked at the civilian, seeing his older, lined face and premature balding spot looking somewhat sour as she put him in the spotlight.

"No, they like to cover the fact that I'm the Butcher of Torfan, that I wiped out over _twenty thousand_ Batarian pirates and slavers in one of the largest slaver hubs outside of Hegemony space." Hale pointed out, not bothering to disguise her disgust. "What the news doesn't tell you is that for a period of nineteen months, not one colony or ship were hit by slavers. Before? The monthly average was somewhere near a thousand slaves. I reduced it to _zero_ for almost two years, if you don't count the random snatch-and-grab of a person or two out in the Attican or the Terminus. The Alliance handpicked me to lead the ground team on Torfan for a reason, sir. Why do you think I was awarded the Order of Luna for it?" That question was answered with silence, Hale noted wiry.

"Because despite the fact that they used slaves as human shields, despite the fact that they had land mines and booby traps, despite the fact that their buildings and compounds were wired with explosives, and despite the fact that a majority of the Batarians were rigged with suicide vests containing several grenades with high explosive mods, that I was able to accomplish my mission with a force of less than two thousand men. I had eight percent of their forces, and yet we were the ones to walk away, while they resorted to surrendering with the intent of blowing up my men when we captured them. The news likes to call me the Butcher because I lost fifteen hundred men that day, and I didn't take one prisoner. None of them explain that I lost so many men because the Batarians were surrendering in droves, mixing themselves with slaves they had freed as a smokescreen, and detonating themselves among us. None of them explain how we couldn't trust the ones that had surrendered, how their buildings were turned into bombs as well. None of them explain that I also pulled out of there thirty thousand slaves. None of them explain that the eighteen hundred and forty-two men that I led into Torfan volunteered for the mission, and knew before they volunteered that it was going to be bloody. They died ensuring the freedom of others; Humans, Salarians, Asari, Turian, Hanar, Drell, Elcor, Quarian, and Batarian slaves. So I ask you this, sir; do _you_ think my actions and beliefs are in the benefit of humanity, or do you think I'm on a personal vendetta?"

The civilian cleared his throat, looking embarrassed, glancing to Grissom and the other Admirals and Generals for a rescue. The diplomat received none, which Jen expected. The news media and upper-crust civilian flunkies might whine and cry about her being the Butcher, but most colonists and military folk thought of her as a hero. Humans from Sol, the Prime colonies, and the Citadel could afford to act all butt-hurt because they'd never been raided, never had the fear of a slaver ship darkening their sky, and never having to rely on whatever piss-poor militia to save their asses.

"I think that covers it." Admiral Grissom finally replied wiry, looking to either side of him. Jen knew that they had gone over their time limit for her, which surprised her none at all. She saluted the Board, and took her obligatory step back, returning to the line of other sailors and Marines. Despite the fact that she wanted to let out a sigh of relief now that the hard part was over, Hale stood in perfect attention, her face completely blank. "Attendees and sponsors? Please wait in the next room while we discuss our findings."

* * *

Major Jennifer Hale stood in what happened to be the waiting room, a plain room with unadorned walls and nowhere to sit with a simple view port to outside space. She stood with her sponsor, Captain Hannah Shepard, who stood it a fairly relaxed position, while Jen leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed underneath her breasts as she silently fumed. At herself, at the Board, at the whole thing in general. She had in her mouth an Arcturus Blend Gold Label cigar, and though it was unlit, she chewed on it all the same. She didn't doubt that lighting it up would give her grief from the various people in the waiting room, cigarettes having fallen from popularity until Turians and Batarians had discovered the pleasures of nicotine. Cigars and Scotch were her vices of choice, and she never passed upon an opportunity to enjoy at least one of the two when the situation would allow her. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times, and the Major had to settle on chewing on her cigar, admonishing herself.

"If you chew that any more, it'll end up a candy bar." Captain Hannah Shepard told Hale, the XO of the SSV _Kilimanjaro_ said with some mirth, looking upon the woman she sponsored with a smile. "And who'll want to smoke a soggy stogie, anyhow?"

"Gee. Thanks, Mom." Jen replied sarcastically while rolling her eyes, pulling the cigar out of her mouth, and looking at its' ruined end. It was true, the cigar probably wasn't fit to smoke anymore, but chewing on it gave her something to do besides stewing. God, she could use a drink. The whole Board thing was a fracas of the umpteenth degree, with disaster written all over it. She had seen a few, came with with being an 'N', but she had never seen one quite like the one she had just attended. While a few had been 'N's', all were the best in their fields, even the asshat. Yet seeing the two Turians as well as the Citadel type didn't seem to bode well. Was the Alliance getting hauled into some sort of diplomatic agreement with the Hierarchy? There had been training programs and co-op exercises before. Most had done well when Hierarchy forces and Alliance military didn't have to mingle too much, keeping everything at a friendly arms' distance away. Memories of the FCW ran too deep, and the generation of men and women who had fought for humanity's survival were now Captains, Colonels, Generals and Admirals in the Alliance. Now with the second generation more than old enough to join into the ranks, the sons and daughters of those who had and had not survived, the healing process between the two races was both slow and short. Still, at least they weren't at each others' throats or shooting at one another. That was progress.

"You need to talk, kiddo?" The older woman asked, sweeping her greying red hair back, obviously going into a well-known sore subject. "I'm just glad that it was Grissom in charge of that Board, and not another inquisition or witch hunt. Some need to be reminded that our position is a little too precarious to be putting personal matters up front. We humans can't afford to play games with politics when the wolves are at the doors. Seems like Brass has got their priorities backwards. As usual." Hannah, bless her heart, knew what she was talking about. A warrior of the FCW herself, she had been serving the Alliance for thirty years, and had seen more than Jen ever would. It was times like these that she was glad she had Captain Shepard by her side, someone to look out for her.

Hale didn't have anyone else.

"I looked again a few weeks ago, Hannah. For Jannie." Jen finally said, pulling the stogie out of her mouth and crossing her arms underneath her breasts, holding the cigar just above one of her well-toned biceps, looking to the older woman, Hannah's cool green eyes looking into Hale's brown ones. "I know I messaged you that I was on some mission under Admiral Michalovich's orders, but what I really did was barhop in a few places; Korrman, the Vegius Sector, Omega, and the Briars." The names had the older Shepard woman's eyes go wider, names of places generally considered the worst of the worst, the roughest of the rough, the dirty, dingy backwaters of the galaxy. Each of them were known for its lawlessness and spitting out anything strong and chewing up the weak. Pirates holes, slaver rings, merc playgrounds, rife with some of the worst scum of the universe, the underworld brought to light and traded openly. Hale had spent a week in each of the places. The second moon of the gas giant Xiphos known as Korrman, a series of compounds and shanty towns that was a well-used haven for slave trading as well as arms deals and the trafficking of narcotics. A series of He3 fueling stations in orbit of the planet Vegia known as the Vegius Sector, ran by a series of Terminus Warlords that would fill up your ship while extorting, racketeering, smuggling, and trafficking whatever they might find on your ship not actively bolted down, a pirate's dream. Omega, an astroid-based station that was the center of trading in the Terminus Systems, its ill-lit corridors housing the destitute and the deranged, ruled by a ruthless Asari whose two main concerns were her power base and the percentage she would get from the misery and maliciousness of others. The radar-scattering Briars, a small nebula that contained a few outposts that was heavily trafficked by mercs, bounty hunters, scalpers, and head hunters, and probably the closest thing known to 'proper' civilization in the Terminus as long as one followed its rule of 'don't fuck with us and we don't fuck with you'. Jen knew what Hannah would say to her efforts, having heard the older woman's concerns before.

"Jen…" The Captain sighed, looking at Hale with concerned eyes, shaking her head sadly. "I know what you are doing, and it touches me. From the bottom of my heart, I am grateful that I am not the only one who think's Jane is still alive, that my daughter…" Hannah had to pause, fighting back her own emotions as the Major could see the older Shepard woman force her eyes to close to fight off the threatening tears. "It's like you said in the Board; she isn't dead until someone's parading around with her corpse. That I believe." Hannah's eyes opened again, the cool green orbs in control of themselves again. "But don't let the search of one daughter cost me the life of the other. I don't want to lose you, too."

"I know." Hale replied glumly; not a new conversation. "But I have to know, Mom. I _need_ to know." The Major explained, and again, it wasn't a new conversation. "I went just to listen. A rumor. A boast. A claim. A sighting. A drunken slip of the tongue. _Something_. _Anything_. Ultimately… nothing." Jen sighed and put the cigar back into her mouth, and softly chewed on it. "They still talk about her out there in the black, you know? I was in the Vegius Sector and some scumbag pirate parasite of an Asari was smacking around some Batarian, telling him to be grateful that Jannie had been missing for four years, how it had been so much worse when the Lion was around." That had Hale smiling around her cigar, and even Captain Shepard joined in on the sad remembrance. "I guess I'm not the only one who hasn't forgotten about her, who hasn't written her off as dead. That was one of the things that I was looking for, Mom; gaps. Slavers mysteriously missing members, pirates that left and somehow never came back, mercs who had to look for new meat, seeing if any others were on the prowl. Korrman still has a rather ridiculous bounty on her head, and they still talk about her, looking for rumors and sightings, too. They hadn't forgiven Jannie for cleaning house with a shotgun back in '77. They still really, really want her dead. That's why that was my first stop." The Marine Major merely shook her head sadly. "I didn't find anything on her. Even paid a few info brokers for any news they might have heard just to cover my bases. _Nada_ , Mom. Not one Goddamn word."

"You're trying. That counts." Jennifer's adopted mother said softly, placing a gentle hand on one of Hale's shoulders. "I know that I would feel _better_ if you weren't risking yourself looking for her, but I'm not mad at you for trying. Not in the least. Just… please be careful, honey. If you go missing or dead… you're the only family I've got left, too."

"I know, and you're right." Hale sighed, pulling cigar from her mouth and leaning her head onto Hannah's hand, as much affection as she had ever shone the woman who had adopted her on the SSV _Einstein_ years before. It wasn't that they didn't love one another, but both women knew that the relationship between adopted mother-and-daughter had hinged upon one other as the glue, and she was gone, missing for four years. The cement that had once been joy was now grief, yet they said that misery loved company, and that was still one of the main reasons why the two women stood by each others' side after so long, even if nether one truly expected to ever see the one that had made them family ever again. Hale knew that even if Jannie really and truly was dead, she and Hannah would still stick by each other, if only so they wouldn't be alone. It was better than nothing.

Mindoir taught her that.

* * *

A/N: A lot of this chapter is in credit to LogicalPremise's 'Of Sheep And Battle Chicken', Chapter 1: Prologue, as well as an actual Army Selection Board, though I based it off of the NCO Evaluation Board, which is seated by NCO's, and not Officers. Props to LP for having a fantastic first chapter and a very scary Sara Ying Shepard.


	3. Arterius: Office of Naval Personnel

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Arterius, Office Of Naval Personnel**

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 19, 2183 1143 Arcturus

Counsel Agent Saren Arterius stood in the corner of the convening room, his arms crossed under his chest carapace as he forced himself not to tap his talons against his armored bracers in impatience and frustration as the Humans in the room bickered and dickered amongst themselves. He gave a sidelong glance to his compatriot and once-upon-a-time protege Nihlus Kryik, Saren's mandibles twitching in frustration, and his SPECTRE partner could easily see the Biotic Turian's emotional state, the more gun-savvy Turian giving a very Turian grin of amusement towards Saren. The silver-colored Turian, for the life of him, couldn't understand why the Counsel had chosen this course of action, and then selected him to lead it. Why not an Asari, like Vasir or T'nari? Why not a Salarian, like Bau or Wiks? Spirits, why not another Turian a little more inclined towards Humans, like Remanius or Korlanus? Nihlus was actually a good choice, Saren admitted grudgingly, knowing that his protege hadn't fought in the Relay 314 War, hadn't lost a brother, hadn't lost face. Though having been a SPECTRE for years, a dedicated Agent of the Counsel held in high esteem, his actions met with resounding approval by the three Counselors, Saren still went barefaced over the same of the actions his eldest brother had taken; his capture, his demise. Killing Desolas had been a matter of pride and necessity, Arterius readily admitted, his brother having gone soft in the fringe after coming into contact with a corrupt piece of Prothean technology. Thankfully, that piece that had been such a danger and threat, that had been mutating and changing Turians into some strange techno-organic hybrid, dangerous and unstable, was buried underneath a mountain with the aid of a Human mercenary. Saren had stripped himself of his markings, despite having gained his SPECTRE's badge an authority after the events that took place, to remind himself that despite that it had been the right thing to do, he had still killed his eldest brother, and rightful heir to the Arterius Clan.

It would be a cold day on Palaven before Saren trusted another Human again.

"So. Madison?" Fleet Master Jon Grissom spoke first, as was his due. As the highest ranking member of the Systems Alliance Military, the Human was both a legend and a hero, the first Human to pioneer through a Mass Relay and return through it. Though he thought most Humans as primitive, backwards, and inferior, the Counsel Agent had to admit that Jon Grissom was an impressive being. Older than everyone else in the room by a good deal, Admiral Grissom held himself with a seriousness and vigor of a warrior a quarter his age, and Saren wouldn't be surprised if the Admiral could still hold himself well in a fight. A veteran of the Relay 314 War, Grissom had been the one to lead Humanity's charge against the Turian Hierarchy, causing the Fleet to lose quite a few ships, many a fighter, and forcing the Hierarchy to acknowledge that while technologically behind, Humanity didn't lack courage or gumption. Humans generally fought with what Turians thought of as dirty tactics; 'kamikaze' fighters, depowered vessels to make them look unthreatening, suicidal flanking maneuvers, and one ingenious vessel turning tactic that everyone used now-a-days that still carried its Human name (if not its meaning), dubbed the 'Crazy Ivan'. The Turians had lost some 15% of its total Fleet, causing the Asari to become involved in the War, as the Turian Fleets were so vital to the patrolling of Citadel Space. The drop in available ships had notified the Counsel that the Hierarchy had been waging a shadow war against a recently-discovered, then-unknown species instead of following First Contact protocols. The Hierarchy had taken a lot of flak for that, causing both the Turian Counselor Tarven Janarus and the Primarch Kalnor Valtreius to resign from their posts. The Asari and Salarian Counselors, while understanding that the thought of a species opening up a dormant Relay, unknowing what laid on the other side, was considered an act of lunacy, had not agreed to the Hierarchy's mentality of shooting first and asking questions later. It might have been forgivable if the Hierarchy had also not committed several acts of atrocity during the war; performing kinetic strikes on a colony world just because the Turians were at a stalemate on the ground, shooting unarmed combatants, executing prisoners, torturing prisoners of war, setting fire to buildings housing refugees and families, and lying to the Counsel about their state of readiness and pulling away the necessary forces to assault the Humans as oppose to patrolling Citadel space from pirates, slavers, drug lords, war lords, smugglers, and arms traffickers.

The fact that Humanity had held off the martial-like race and muscle of the Citadel didn't help either.

"Madison is a stick in the mud." Came from Admiral Benedict Shule, one of the Alliances' wardogs and another veteran of the Relay 314 War. In charge of the Alliance's Extra-Solar Deployment Fleets, Admiral Shule was well-versed in the dangers of the galaxy, and was the shield to Alliance Space, as well as the one who authorized any movement of Alliance personnel into the Attican Traverse and the Terminus Systems. While the Human Fleets may have vastly improved ships and the men and woman in charge of them, it was Admiral Shule who was in charge of its placements and composition, putting out the order of vessels and companies to protecting colonies and shipping lanes, creating a screen line for the Alliance. Many who had been looked upon by the Board were his men. "He looks good on paper, but in reality is not much more than an order-taker." The Admiral looked over to the Marine General who sat next to him, a man that Saren only knew by name, Major General Carlos Esteban Ramirez. General Ramirez nodded his head in mute agreement, saying nothing else. "Not an independent operator, nor is he one to go out and look for a fight. You'd practically hand the bad guys to him on a silver platter and tell him what to do. Pass."

"But his reputation as a pirate hunter…" This came from Ambassador Donnel Udina, a man that Saren had only met a few hours before, and despised immediately. Every time the SPECTRE looked at the man, he felt like he needed to hose off his plates for any accumulated grime that might have gotten underneath them.

"Overstated." This came from Major General Ramirez, whose weak voice was due to a shot in the throat during the Relay 314 War from a Turian sniper. "Put him in front of a pirate compound and tell him 'go', and he's as good a doorkicker as any. But getting him to look at evidence and figure out another base of operations or investigate their traffic patterns? Worse than worthless. Plus, he isn't really anything to write home about when it comes to tactics and leadership. No innovation or flair, no unpredictable behavior. Anyone could see him a mile coming and set a whole host of traps for him and his men, killing the whole lot of them. Which has happened a few times, yet he still walks right into them. Pass."

"We've also have some evidence that he may or may not be more personally involved with some of the more politically unstable sectors and parties, such as Terra Firma." This came from Vice Admiral Zhao Chang, head of the Office of Naval Intelligence. While the Alliance didn't officially have any information brokers in its employ, Admiral Chang was known to Saren as an Intelligence Officer who was quite good at finding 'dirty laundry', as the Human saying went. The ONI had an illusive and shadowy reputation, and was hardly looked upon in a good light among the Alliance or the Citadel species. While not as efficient as, say, the Shadow Broker or Aria T'loak, Admiral Chang was still one to be wary of, the SPECTRE grudgingly admitted. "A card-carrying member is one thing. Being a part of several demonstrations and talking to higher party members of military operations is a black mark. Pass."

"I agree with Ramirez's statement," said Admiral Khan Singh, yet another 314 vet who was in charge of the Sol Defense Fleet, and was known as the Warthog by the Alliance Military personnel. Admiral Singh had been one of the original space commanders who had made the taking of Shanxi so difficult, and hadn't given up even after General Williams' surrendering of the planet, having moved to space guerrilla tactics to the unsuspecting, unprepared Turian occupational fleet. "I also like to add that Madison has had no real challenges in his career. Taking over a pirate base of no real significant value is our bread-and-butter. None of his opposition has ever been of any note-worthiness, nor were the numbers he faced significant compared to his own forces. His losses against such numbers are rather high; he practically loses a man for every one his forces takes down. He only wins because he has more men. Attrition warfare works only for the Krogan, not against Batarians and Turians. Pass."

"Pass." That was all Grissom had to say. As Saren understood it, the legend made up his own rules, and had enough grit and grizzle to make anyone else in the Alliance to mind them. If he didn't want to explain himself, he damn well wouldn't and no one would say otherwise. While Saren didn't know the Commander in question, he took what the Admirals and Marine General said in stride. If they didn't think Commander Daniel Madison was good enough, then he wasn't going to nay-say them. "Nguyen?"

"Not a ground-pounder." Shule answered immediately. "Yes, an extremely talented hacker, and perhaps that's something that might be needed." The Admiral's eye went to Saren, who merely shrugged. "Take her away from a computer or an Omnitool and you've got a 'P.O.G.'. Pass." The Counsel Agent had to look up the acronym, and found it to mean 'Personnel Other than Grunt'.

"She's useful for after-actions; data mines and breaking encryption when the bullets aren't flying." General Ramirez assessed. "Used her a few times, and she is good. But put her on the ground and she's going to be useless in a fight. Nothing outstanding on her OER pertaining to her physical abilities or her marksmanship. We don't need someone who might get scared during a firefight. I'd rather have a grunt scratching his head at a computer than a nerd scratching her head during a gun battle. Pass."

"She's got a clean bill of health from my end. No instabilities or political land mines there." Admiral Chang piped up. "She's an in-closet lesbian whose managed to keep her nose clean. No financial issues. Her role as a hacker does potentially mean that she could clean her tracks, but if her personal life is any indication, then she probably doesn't have too much to hide. Accept." That was the first vote of confidence from any of the Humans, Admiral Chang playing his role well; that of the Devil's Advocate, whatever that was suppose to mean, Saren thought. The others graded by the candidates abilities while the spymaster was more of a dirt digger.

"No ground time means she lacks the necessary command structure on how to lead troops, how to tell someone on the ground what they need to do to crack something open." General Singh pointed out, and it was a fair point. "So she can crack into somebody's system, but can she get into an enemy's head? Think like they think? No. Pass."

"She'd be a fine candidate for the Infowar Division, but not what we're looking for. Pass." Grissom handed out the final verdict. He then looked over to Ambassador Udina. "Set that up for us. Humanity could use a few more fine examples out there to remind the other species we aren't just looking out for ourselves." Udina merely nodded, his face sour, Saren noted, but said nothing. "Dravonich?"

"A thug with the legal right to kill." Shule immediately spat out, his disgust evident. "Heavy-handed cossack who gluts too much on spilling blood than accomplishing the mission. Huge liability. We were a bit blind to that when he hunted the remnants of the Skyllian Blitz forces, our passions were a bit high then, but his bloodlust is a little hard to hide when no one's screaming for somebody's head. He's more likely to kill civilians and take no prisoners, denying us any intel. Pass on the Russian bastard."

"Agreed. Pass." General Ramirez's simple reply was almost like a hammer. There was no brooking argument at the table.

"Very much into getting women drunk and having his way with them." Admiral Chang added, looking at a datapad. "He's also responsible for several accounts of intimidating those under his command from speaking out about some of his more questionable methods and personality traits. We don't need a molester representing us. Pass."

"Might have been useful during the FCW, but too much of a liability during anything less than a full-scale war." General Singh replied, shaking his head. "Pass."

"Agreed. Pass." Grissom let off a heavy sigh, and for a moment, he looked to be his age, Saren thought; an old man. "Carter?"

"Damn good Marine." Admiral Shule's tone said it all; he was proud of her accomplishments. "Leads from the front, and has served in fierce battles and forays. Knows her job, knows its expectations, and has never failed us or let us down. She loses few men because of her Biotics, and can take down a good defensive line for the same reason. She's a powerhouse. Accept."

"The only thing she lacks over the others is notoriety. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Our enemies will underestimate her." General Ramirez pointed out. "Someone they don't see coming is an element of surprise, which is always nice to have. Accept." Two accepts. Saren was impressed.

"Pro-Cerberus. Not what we want. Pass." Admiral Chang informed the others, getting some startling looks from the other members of the board. Saren was a little leery of the Human terrorist group, more well-known for high profile assassinations and strange experimentation. Spirits, he knew one of its founders!

"Shit. Pass." General Singh responded, obviously having changed his mind with that information in mind.

"Pass." Grissom growled, his face dark. Cerberus was an ugly name for most of the Alliance, and even members of its ranks would publicly agree if only to avoid censor, arrest, and trial. "Fonzarelli?"

"Good ship commander, and well-versed in Naval tactics." Admiral Shule answered, nodding his head in approval. "As I understand it, most of the job requires just that. Accept."

"While not a ground commander, _per se_ , he does command them from a ship, so at least has the basic knowledge of the difficulties of taking down a den of thieves and murderers." General Ramirez filled in. "Still, he doesn't go and hunt them down himself. We need someone who can do both. Pass."

"Clean, though I would say his cleanliness is a bit of a raised eyebrow." Admiral Chang allowed. "No one gets away without something to find. Too clean. Something to hide… or someone is doing it for him. We need someone who doesn't mind getting a little dirt under their fingernails, even if it was already there in the first place. Pass."

"Well, I was going to mention how passionate he is at hunting pirates and criminals." General Singh forwarded, looking to Chang. "Any insight as to why?"

"No, and that's one of the things that bothers me." The head of the ONI replied to the question. "No criminal history or activity, and has never suffered such, either. You don't hate somebody without a reason why. Even racism is somewhat correct."

"Then pass. We want someone we can understand, not someone who gets it into their head that perhaps offing Asari hookers is the flavor of the week. For all we know, he's a closet psychopath who's been fooling us all. That's not something we can afford." General Singh gave his answer, the other members nodding their head. Udina looked to say something, and Grissom noticed, and nodded his head to the Ambassador. Saren already knew that Udina and Defense Minister Charles Schwartz were non-voting members of the board, any were only allowed their insights and opinions, if any. This was strictly a military matter, and the Minister and Ambassador were only there by the Alliance Brass' good graces.

"Lieutenant Commander Fonzarelli is a bit of a Boy Scout, I will allow, but he has the credentials that the others seem lacking so far." The Ambassador pointed out. "I agree that we need to know a mans' motivations, but wouldn't it do just to simply ask? If Vice Admiral Chang and ONI can't find any dirt on him, perhaps there is no dirt to be found. He's been serving the Alliance for… eight years now?" Udina looked it up on a datapad, satisfying his need for a correct answer. "If there was some instability or issue, I would think it would have surfaced by now."

"It's entirely possible the previous units kept things under wraps or never prosecuted anything dealing with Fonzarelli." Chang explained, and his tone said that he was being very patient with the Ambassador. "Most units always has its troublemakers, and a few are like grenades; collateral damage." Saren understood this, though said nothing. "The Lieutenant Commander has been a part of no less than three units that had such incidences where more than one Marine or sailor was indicted or implicated, yet he always managed to keep his head above water. Whether he didn't do anything, or cut deals that we're unaware of in ONI, it's hard to say. It could be that he knew of some of these incidences and said nothing, or even a part of it but wasn't dime'ed out by the others. Still a pass." Udina grunted at that, but he wasn't going to change anyone's mind.

"I agree. Pass. We need to know a man's character, so we can predict what actions he might take in the future. If we're questioning that at this point of time, then it's already too late." Grissom's vote was like a death bell ringing. Another candidate gone. "Forsythe."

"Forsythe… I'm fifty-fifty on him." Shule allowed. It was easy to tell that the Admiral didn't like the man, but he was being objective. "Having a reputation as a 'nice guy' is all well and good, but not for the job required out of him. A good warrior, his fitness reps are in the top one percentile, but I'll be honest; what happened at Benning was a fluke. It ended well, but you can't rely upon pretending good luck will always be in your favor to settle situations. We need someone who is willing to make the hard choices, the hard decisions, and willing to accept the consequences. That Forsythe is willing to talk things out instead of shooting first puts him in a rare category among the military-types, and that'll give us good press. But is that the kind of man we need right now?" The Admiral did something funny with his hand, holding it flat and rocking it back and forth. Saren realized it to mean something tottering on an edge. "Abstain."

"Hmm. I'm going to go with pass, but not for the usual reasons." General Ramirez spoke slowly, his soft voice giving him credence. "I like a man who will stand up for his own convictions, as well as the right thing. But the job we're going to ask him to do? Solving it with words isn't the standard status quo, is it?" Ramirez looked to Saren, and then to Nihlus, both Agents shaking their heads. "Forsythe will be a great asset for us, but no more than that."

"A good point." Chang spoke up next. "He is clean, with nothing to worry about. He really is a boy scout, and his life is well documented since he was born on a military vessel, both parents having served for years aboard ships. He's got nothing to hide, yet he is clean. This job is not. Pass."

"Accept." General Singh added, looking to the other members. "A good man in the limelight may just be what we need. If we're going to thrust someone as the first of something, or anything, we want a good impression. Guy comes off like Washington." _Who?_ Saren had to look that one up, too. "Let's face it, we could use all the good publicity we can get, and the man has got it in spades. He's a fighter and well-trained, so we know he can duke it out if needed. I know I shouldn't pick a man out of political reasoning, but if he's got the skills and the creds to make everyone a winner, then should we really squander the possibility?"

"Agents?" Grissom asked, tilting his head towards Saren's direction. It said much that the legend was asking the SPECTREs something; obviously he was on the fence himself. There was to be only one candidate, after all.

"My question is this; can he do what needs to be done, and Benning was just a tactic that he knew he could win with a better way, or will he shirk from the realities of war just because of the possibility of some collateral damage?" Nihlus asked, his voice calm and reasonable. "I don't like civilians dying as much as the next Turian, but if saving a few could potentially harm hundreds down the road, then that is an unacceptable compromise. SPECTREs are not law enforcement; we are enforcement, period."

"It is as my compatriot says, was this an action that the Lieutenant Commander _knew_ he could come out on top, or was just praying to come out on top?" Saren gave his druthers. "A good man in a bad situation is generally a dead man, in my experience. Most SPECTREs are known for their ability to get the job done, not… what was the Human term? 'Wrapping it up with a bow?'" The Turian SPECTRE looked over to the nodding head of Admiral Shule.

"As much as I love a Turians' opinion as the next Human being, Agent Arterius brings up a good point." The Vice Admiral spoke up. "We need someone with more guts than good will. As much as I like to see a true _bona fide_ hero take the stage, that may not be what's right for the job. Which is the point of this Board; to pick the best candidate, not the best-looking. I'm changing my vote from abstain to pass."

"Pass it is." Grissom sighed, a little deflated. It was obvious that the Fleet Master liked the Lieutenant Commander in question, but too many variables had been raised. It was good to know that though the Fleet Master was as martially and as politically powerful as he was, he would listen to his subordinates in such matters. It was high praise coming from the Turian, indeed. "Meer."

"Meer's the Hero of Akuze. Killed a Thresher Maw on foot single-handedly after it wiped out his unprepared platoon. What more needs to be said? Accept." Shule announced, his voice and tone assured.

"Agreed. Guy's got an accolade that makes a Krogan stand up and take notice." General Ramirez's ruined voice added his input. "No one knew what a Thresher Maw was, much less how hard it was to beat one. That he was the sole survivor really doesn't detract from the fact that it could have happened to anyone, and I doubt there would have been _any_ survivors. Plus his performance reviews are through the roof. Accept."

"The man's a bit of a glory hound, truth be told." Admiral Chang continued on with his Devil's Advocate role. "He is a bit of a sexist and a racist, but he keeps it close to his chest. Egotistical and self-promoting, as well. Born on Earth, ran with a gang that was small-time back then, got a few arrests, but nothing serious. The rest of his career's picture perfect; high scores in both OCS and basic 'N1' school, came third and second in both, respectively." Saren wondered who had earned the top marks briefly. "Is trained in both ground combat and Naval warfare, and has shown great aptitude in both. Consequently, has been given the go ahead for his promotion to Commander, which is still dredged somewhere in the the Personnel Office." The Admiral rolled his eyes, and Saren almost chuckled; despite the difference in species, some problems were universal, evidently. "His problems are known and predictable, and his motivations are as common place as seeing and breathing. Meer is manageable, and perfect for the job. Accept."

"My only real point of concern is some… discrepancies." General Singh began to point out. "While on paper his fitness reports are excellent, out on the field, he is a man who lets his soldiers do the fighting for him, leading from behind. As a tactician, he is brilliant. As a warrior, he may leave something to be desired, letting Marines and Sailors do the fighting for him. Still, it is as Admiral Shule pointed out; the man did kill a Thresher Maw on foot. Perhaps he doesn't feel challenged enough. Accept."

"What of the rumors and accusations of him stealing credit from others? There have been a few." Grissom asked, looking to Chang.

"Just that; rumors and accusations." The ONI Director replied, his tone neutral. "Each case was investigated, yet the accusers recanted after discrepancies were found in between their stories and Meers'. And rumors are just that; rumors." Saren wasn't quite happy with the answer that Admiral Chang had given. The accusations weren't solved, merely recanted. How many criminals were forced to cover for another because they owed money, or were blackmailed? A recanted statement wasn't proof of innocence, nor was it acknowledgement of no wrong-doing on Meers' part. He'd have to keep that in mind.

"The man's been a poster child for the Alliance for years." Udina butted in, his tone indignant. "You see him on every recruitment poster, every commercial spot, and every video. Man's a hero. How many have joined the Alliance military thinking they would be like Meer?"

"Man's on every poster and commercial because we managed to lose Shepard." Grissom pointed out, bring Udina up short. "I certainly don't remember the Lion of Elysium having accusations of glory-nabbing by her fellow soldiers, or being a sexist and a racist." That had the other men looking at each other as Grissom began picking apart Lieutenant Commander Meer. "With the exception of Akuze, the man hasn't be a part of any other exceptional action, nor taken down anything else worthy of note. There's plenty of things to do out there in the black, yet this man parades himself every chance he can get into the limelight. He wants press? Then let him stomp on some pirates, take down some slavers, rescue somebody. Then he can polish his own dick on his own time." That had Ambassador Udina guffaw, the same one that seemed to have a problem with one of the candidates during the assessment before, the woman at the end. "The job doesn't need some _prima donna_ parading around when there's work to be done. Pass."

The vote was like a death sentence; though each vote from the five members of the Board was technically equal, having Jon Grissom vote one down was a large step in the wrong direction. Especially for a man the other four had accepted. And Saren had to admit that the points that the Fleet Master had brought up had the other men looking slightly ashamed of themselves. The Turian Agent promised himself that he would look into Meer himself, for after the Board accepted a candidate, then it would be his and Nihlus' turn.

"Hale."

The room was quiet for a full five seconds after Grissom spoke the Majors' name, the Admirals and lone General looking at one another. It struck Saren as strange; there hadn't been a pause for any of the other candidates. He wondered why, and waited to hear what the Board had to say for the lowest-ranking member to attend.

"Hale... is bit of a flipped coin, honestly." Admiral Shule began, his voice concerned. "Statistically, she blows the rest out of the water. An N7 while the rest had never passed the Villa. A Marine ground commander who has training in Naval command as well. Graduated Valedictorian from Annapolis, first in her class at the Villa, and, quite frankly, has more actions and medals than the rest. Combined." There was a healthy pause, no one interrupting. "But Major Hale is damaged goods. She's the Daughter of Mindoir and the Butcher of Torfan. She hates slavers with a passion, and has made a career out of exterminating the practice. That alone makes me want to give her an accept, but the emotional trauma of what happened on Mindoir, Torfan, and all those raids makes me leery." The Admiral sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest for a long moment. "Accept. Hale's as good as Shepard, and understands the harsh realities that the galaxy in general brings. She isn't under the impression that she's bulletproof, like most Marines. She's down-to-earth, cares for the men and women under her command, and tactically sound."

"Agreed." Major General Ramirez picked up immediately. "Hale is, quite simply, my best Marine. She leads from the front, trains her subordinate Officers and NCO's into excellence, and hunts pirates, smugglers, mercs, and slavers as if it were a religion. And we know why." There were grunts from the table, no one needing an explanation. "She's responsible for ground actions and ship actions, and personally led Corvettes to ship raids against slavers, pirates, and smugglers. She knows both ends of the job, and is a scary good shot with pistols, assault rifles, shotguns, grenade launchers... she's lethal as they come, damn good tactician, smart, and motivated. Accepting her means I'm losing one of the best I've got, but that's why I accepted her to lead the assault on Torfan four years ago. My reasons haven't changed. Accept."

"The data that ONI has collected from Hale's action is, quite simply, enormous." Vice Admiral Chang began, looking at a datapad. "Because of her, she has rescued some fifty to sixty thousand captured human beings that would have otherwise ended up in Hegemony Space as slaves. She has also earned us a good deal of good will among the non-humans as well, rescuing other galactic species and turning them over to their native governments as oppose to leaving them behind or merely turning them over to the Alliance. While that would be preferable, a vast majority of the governments, as well as the Citadel Counsel, have repeatedly expressed their gratitude over Major Hale's charity, earning us grace and credit among the non-humans. Something we shouldn't overlook." That had a few thoughtful nods from the members of the Board. "As for the Major herself? She is possibly the most mentally scarred individual we have in service. A good percentage of the men and women who have served under her in her slaver raids have come out with PTSD and mental traumas from what they have seen... yet Major Jennifer Hale continues on. She has successfully raided... twenty-four installations, thirteen ships, nine outposts, and one space station that is four times the size of the International." The information was at his fingertips as Vice Admiral Chang looked up, but Saren remembered it from memory. He had been impressed by it initially. "That is more than the rest of the candidates put together. I wonder how much longer she can continue on before it gets to be too much for her? That she is passionate about it is without question, based upon her answers at this very Board alone, much less her military actions. But is a job that would be more stressful, in command by non-humans that may not understand her the best idea?" The ONI Admiral paused for a moment, thinking it over. "Accept. Hale is the perfect candidate for the possibility, mental trauma or no."

"What have your spooks pulled on her, Zhao?" That came from the Ambassador, Udina, a slight sneer in his tone. Spirits, Saren despised the Human. "She seems nothing more than some grunt or thug with vengeance on her mind."

"That 'grunt' damn near stopped slavery for over a year because of Torfan." Grissom growled, glaring daggers at the politician. "I seem to remember you rubbing it in the faces of the damn Turians that humanity was able to enforce Citadel Law better than they could because of her. Do yourself a favor, Donnel, and shut your fucking trap before your stick a third foot in your mouth... like one of mine." Saren had to hold back a chuckle at that, especially when he heard Grissom talked under his breath, something along the lines of _stupid motherfucker_.

"Regardless, to answer your belligerent question, Ambassador," Vice Admiral Chang's face was passive, expressionless, "my 'spooks' laud Major Jennifer Hale for her ability to glean intelligence from her raids and actions. She is an open book, wears her heart on her sleeve, and is easily predictable. She is a survivor with a protector streak, and her personality reflects that, with a strong inclination of including her men and the innocent to her views of those she defends. She has also lost a good many men in her career, but none of her actions were reckless or thoughtless; simply the enemy getting the upper hand for a short period of time. I will say this; the list of enemies that Hale has is short... and short-lived. I would not want to end up on her shit list."

"Khan?"

"Pass." That had almost every Human looking at one another in surprise. "Have you all forgotten? She is the Daughter of Mindoir, and she has made a career hunting down those responsible for her colony. Did you all forget that while it was Batarian 'overzealot patriots' that reaved and raped Palmdale, it was most certainly the damn Counsel that blocked any type of effort or retaliatory strike against the Hegemony, or at least those responsible?" Saren ' _hmm'ed_ ' at that; he remembered that, and it was a point to consider. "You want to send the woman who has made it her lifes' work destroying those who destroyed her to the very aliens that denied the Alliance vengeance? We could have stopped Elysium and the Skyllian Blitz years before it ever occurred if fucking aliens hadn't interfered. What will Major Hale say the first time she approaches the Counsel? Will she accuse them? Blame them? Shoot them?" The Board room was deathly silent. "Counsel Law has made slavery illegal, and the fucking squids, lizards, and spikes have done a _wonderful_ job enforcing that law of theirs. Like there isn't slave blocks on Illium, a blue dyke whore planet with the barest paper shield that somehow _doesn't_ make it apart of the Republic. Or Khar'shan. Or Korban. Or Omega. No, sending our best slave-hunter into the arms of those who haven't done a fucking thing about slavery may be the worst kind of stupid we can do. What will the aliens say when she wishes to go pop another Blink camp filled with our people? Will they tell her no? What will she say in return?" Admiral Singh looked hard at Saren and Nihlus. "Not that I have any love for Goddamn aliens, but I will applaud Hale for rescuing _non-human_ slaves; makes us look good. But the Alliance has foot the bill for years, without one Goddamn Credit of restitution or gratitude in return, not one thank you, not one iota of help. Not that I want some extragalactic national on one of my ships, but there's never been an offer from any of the aliens to help rescue even their own kin. What does Hale think of that, the woman who has made hunting anything to do with slavery into a Goddamn personal quest? Does she take their arrogance and apathy in stride, or does she resent them for it? We've never stopped her, and we award her for her work. Not one foreign government has given her any recognition for putting her ass on the line to save their people. What will the Counsel do? I'd like to see what our... _guests_ have to say about that."

"Well... without going into classified details," Nihlus Kryik began after clearing his throat, "SPECTREs are expected to enforce Citadel Law and policy. As slavery is illegal, Major Hale would be free to continue in her operations against such an institution during her times when not on Counsel-directed operations."

"Still a pass. Hale might not do well with some alien freak telling her what's right or not as oppose to a Human being who would better understand what she's suffered." Admiral Singh signaled with a stubby five-taloned hand that he was done.

"Hmm. Something to consider." Grissom replied softly, mulling it over. "I accept." There was two candidates with four votes now, Saren realized to himself. "Minister Schwartz? Please bring in the candidates." The Fleet Master told the Minister of Defense, who sat at the very end of the table.

"Meer and Hale? Or... all of them?" The youthful Minister asked, unsure.

"All of them."

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A/N: Originally, I had it to where everyone but Grissom hated Hale for being the Butcher. But it actually made more sense for the Board to vamp her military conquests while worrying about the traumas she deals with. The Counsel putting a block on retaliation for Mindoir is slight canon, actually; the Batarians actually had an Ambassador at that time, and this was the beginning of the end for diplomatic relations towards the Batarians and Counsel Space, Elysium and the start of the Skyllian Blitz being the final hammer to fall.


	4. Meer: Office of Naval Personnel

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

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 **Chapter 3: Meer, Office Of Naval Personnel**

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 19, 2183 1216 Arcturus

Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer stood with his back to the waiting room, looking out the large viewport that offered him the vista of space and human Alliance spaceships that serenely passed by in the black. It wasn't necessarily that he enjoyed watching the maneuvers that ships did to dock with Arcturus Station, or the skill that Alliance pilots had to obtain to avoid the million and one dangers that existed in flight. No, he did it because he didn't want to look at his competition, the six other Marines and sailors that were in the waiting room with him, along with their sponsors. This wasn't a gathering of equals, a setting of warriors to get friendly with one another. This was a competition, a representation to prove who was the best, and all those who failed to reach such a vaulted position. In his mind, Meer knew who among them was the best, no doubt in his mind as his eyes looked upon the reflections in the hardened clear viewport, seeing the others in their ghost-like visages.

There was Commander Madison, a lump of a toolbag whose only philosophy was 'full speed ahead'. Sure, the man had a nice reputation of killing pirates, but he should also have the same reputation of pirates killing his own forces. Madison merely stood there with his own sponsor, Captain Dragonov, the two men merely exchanged quiet words. There was the little chink dyke bitch, Lieutenant Commander Nguyen, the Shadow standing in all of her 5'2" glory. The little slant-eyed bitch might be good with a Haptic keyboard, but she was well in over her head among such august company. He still hadn't forgotten how she had snubbed him, of all people, during their ten year class reunion from Annapolis just this past year. Fucking dyke. Nguyen was talking to her own sponsor, Commander Jameson, a hot redhead whom Mark was pretty sure was into munching on the carpet, too. There was Lieutenant Colonel Dravonich, the murdering psychopath. Meer at least admitted to himself that Mikael Dravonich, known as the Destroyer, was damn good at what he did, even if what he did was slaughter everything in front of him. The large Russian man towered over everyone, standing glumly with flint-hard eyes staring while his sponsor, Colonel Deitrich, looked small and weak in comparison next to the blood-thirsty Russian. There was Lieutenant Colonel Carter, 'Samson' trying to stand tall among the recognizable. Poor little blonde Biotic slut was trying to be one of the big boys, close enough to her own sponsor, Colonel Hill, to rub up and down the man's thigh in front of everyone if she tried any harder. Undoubted fucked her way to get here only to fall flat on her face. There was Lieutenant Commander Fonzarelli, the so-called Italian Stallion. Puffed-up Guido who at least had better sense than Madison when it came to battle, using cover to avoid getting shot. The Stallion was sweet-talking his own sponsor, Commander Arias, a hot little number that was undoubtedly fucking the Stallion. Probably how he ended up here as well. There was Lieutenant Commander Forsythe, a little boy trying to stand among men. Meer had to admit that he actually did like John Forsythe, and thought him a bit better than average. Good soldier skills, good leadership skills, but way too much of a boy scout. Forsythe didn't like casualties on his own side, and did almost everything possible to avoid having his men shot at; that was almost the same as cowardice, in Meer's mind. Forsythe's sponsor was an unknown to him, some Commander that looked like he jumped right out of the same military textbook that Forsythe had walked out of.

And then there was _her_.

Meer almost couldn't believe his eyes when he had seen her walk into the waiting room for the first time, before the board was to convene and the interviews to take place. He knew what this was about; Admiral Ahern had told both him and his sponsor, Captain O'Brian. A human SPECTRE… they were interviewing for the possibility of a human SPECTRE. Lieutenant Commander Meer knew that him being in the selection process was a given; he was the Hero of Akuze, after all! Seeing his competition, the Lieutenant Commander wasn't at all worried about his chances of success. Madison was an idiot, Nguyen a P.O.G., Dragonov a lunatic, Carter a nobody, Fonzarelli a playboy, and Forsythe out of his league. He already knew that he was capable of being Humanity's First SPECTRE candidate, which would all but guarantee him being Humanity's First SPECTRE. He had the skills, the rep, the capabilities… he was ready. Meer smiled as he looked at the other five, and knew he had it in a bag. He would wipe the floor with the lot of them. Easily. The N2 could already imagine the badge of office on his chest, the Counsel, the cameras…

And then _the cunt_ walked in.

It had been years since he had seen her physically, her having missed out on the Class of '72 reunion in Annapolis, and Meer didn't shed a tear at either the cunts' or her bitch sisters' absence. It still burned him that he had graduated _third_ , and behind two women at that! Oh, everyone had been so _impressed_ with Jane Shepard, spacer brat and daughter of 1LT John Shepard, one of the Heroes of Shanxi. She was a natural at _everything_ ; physical fitness, shooting, hand-to-hand, math, physics, piloting… there wasn't a subject Jannie Shepard couldn't touch and not master on the spot. The bitch made it look _easy_. And then there was her traumatized cunt of an adopted sister, Jennifer Hale. Damn near as good as Jannie at everything she did, but a better shot at long ranges and a real flair for computer programming, coding, and manipulation. Shepard and Hale easily outclassed everyone in the Class of '72, everyones' golden girls. It made Meer seethed in anger watching them take top place and top pick in seemingly everything that they did. Was he not worthy? Did he not survive the streets of Edmonton, a homeless urchin? Did he not prove himself by leaving the gangs, becoming smarter, stronger, better? Meer had fought tooth and nail to get into Annapolis and those two bitches show up with bells on and ruin everything! Jennifer Hale and Jane Shepard, first and second in their graduating class, valedictorian and salutatorian respectively, with the cunt graduating _somma cum laude_. Meer, a measly third, was a nobody in the sea of other graduates during the graduating ceremony, watching in anger as either one of the bitches took damn near every award and accolade on the stage. Oh, the bitch had Alliance blood, that's why she was so great, to prove herself worthy of her fathers' name! Oh, the cunt was one of the few survivors of Mindoir, that's why she works herself twice as hard, to prove that she's no longer a victim! Meer was a mere footnote, and the dark, dark anger in him grew.

And here was Hale, once again, to ruin everything.

The cunt had walked into the waiting room with her adopted mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, and the Lieutenant Commander had been stunned for a good several moments, seeing her there in her Class Blues, her uniform as meticulous as always, with the deep blue ribbon of the Order of Luna perfectly wrapped around her neck. Everything about the cunt oozed perfection; the way she wore her green beret, the red banner bordered with silver that bore the 'N7' device over her impressive stack of meritorious and valorous medals just above her left breast pocket, the Sao Paulo Marksmanship fourragere cord, gold and silver entwined with a medallion of onyx black steel looping underneath her left armpit and medallion hanging from her left shoulder board, the saber on her left hip marking her as the Class of '72 valedictorian, the golden Prince of Wales spurs connected to her highly polished dress shoes given to her by none other than Fleet Master Jon Grissom himself, even the pants she wore instead of the skirt that contained a single black stripe running down the length of the left side of her leg indicating she graduated top of her 'N' school class. He didn't want to look at her medals as she strode in; the two Navy Crosses, the Legion of Merit, the five Silver Stars, the multiple purple hearts, the several valorous devices on her Bronze Star, as well as the meritorious ones on the next one over, and the three silver oak leaf clusters on her Marine Corp Accommodation Service Medal indicating that she had no less than _fifteen_ recommendations from previous commands from no less than a rank of a Marine Lieutenant Colonel or a Navy Commander. The rest were bullshit awards that required no specific gallantry or praise, but the amount of them was indeed more than anyone else in the room… easily. And of course the cunt had to have tits big enough to push the medals and badges outwards, to make it seem like they said 'Look At Me!'

The cunt made him feel small. Meer hated that feeling.

The Board itself was benign, and went almost exactly as Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer thought it would. The questions were tailored, just a few personal questions, a few insights gleaned, and move onto the next person. Meer's own line of questioning went better than he hoped, and he wasn't afraid to tell the Board what he thought; that he was the perfect man for the job, and that they needed him. He felt pretty good about his questions and answers, and definitely sounded better than the rest of the lackluster competition. Even Forsythe, the wannabe hero, ended up sounding more like a coward too afraid to fight as oppose to a leader who explored all options. As he thought before, no competition.

Then it was the fucking _Butcher's_ turn.

That whole thing had been a disaster, and Meer had a sinking feeling in his gut about it. It was obvious that Fleet Master Jon Grissom had a completely platonic, utterly professional raging hard-on for Major Hale, just _talking_ to her during the board. Everyone else's questions were only to last five minutes, yet the cunts' line of questioning lasted over ten! The fact that she had just come off another high-profile mission, capturing slavers and rescuing slaves, fresh off the press, did nothing to improve Meers' mood. He had to admit that the gimmick with the wallet was a brilliant ploy; a real sympathy vote if he had ever seen one. Shit, he should do something like that. Carry something around and claim it to be the last thing his dying father had ever given him (not that Meer had any idea who that bastard was). Who wouldn't be touched by such a move? Throwing her brothers' name into the mix was just frosting on the cake, reminding the Board that the cunt's _entire_ family had been wiped out; two sympathy votes in one. And the list of people? Stroke of genius! Eight hundred Goddamn reasons to like the cunt, and who knew if the names were true or not? Didn't matter, the stage had been set, and Hale had come off looking like Jesus fucking Christ in a Marine Corps uniform, brandishing an M8 Avenger in one hand while shouldering a cross with the other.

She had done it to him again. Outclassed him. Outperformed him.

Fucking _cunt_.

Now he stood there, his back to the competition and his own sponsor, looking at the reflections in the tempered glass, his eyes focusing on the only one of them that was worth his time; _her_. The cunt. The fucking _Butcher_. God, how he hated that name. It was a great name, brilliant. It inspired fear and respect, greatness and prowess. 'Hero' was nice, until one stacked it against 'Lion' or 'Butcher'. Plenty of nicknames with 'Hero' in it, more than enough that one would have to ask 'which one?'. There was only one Lion. There was only one Butcher. Why couldn't he have been known as the Maw Killer or Thresher Slayer? Something unique? Something that spoke of his great deeds? Hero of Akuze sounded too much like 'Hero-Of-Some-Forgotten-Planet-No-One-Can-Find-Without-The-Extranet's-Help'. Everyone knew where Elysium was. Everyone knew where the fuck Torfan was. Hell, the cunt practically put the shit hole moon on the fucking map herself after drowning it with the blood of her own soldiers and executed Batarians.

Maybe that was what he needed to do; make it look difficult, make the scumbags look utterly psychotic, and put a few rounds into one or two of their heads. Worked for the cunt, didn't it? Meer mulled it over as he looked at her reflection, seeing her talk to the bitch's mother, the cunt chewing on a cigar. A _fucking_ cigar? Seriously? How many great leaders were portrayed smoking stogies? It was the very essence of masculinity! Meer promised himself that he would stop by the Commissary and see what they had as a selection. Perhaps a nice cigar for his next promotional posters would give him a more rugged, authentic look. All the greats had some sort of signature, didn't they? A pose? A quote? Hell, didn't that one guy have some ugly-ass bulldog go wherever he went?

The door to the waiting room opened, and through the reflection of the glass Meer could see the Minister of Defense Charles Schwartz sticking his head into the spartan room, looking at everyone inside. Meer smiled, knowing what it meant.

Axe time.

"If everyone could come back to the convening room, please?" The Defense Minister asked, his tone polite and soft, and Meer wondered how such a sniveling looking man got such an elevated, important job. The Marines and sailors exited the room in pairs, attendees and sponsors, in the same order in which they filed in. Within two minutes, they were all back into the conference room, the potential SPECTRE candidates standing in the position of attention, in the exact same spots as they were before. Meer, near the end of the line, could feel the others' tensions rise by the little things they did; the holding of their breath, the nervous stink of fresh sweat, the tightening of cracking knuckles, and the nervous twitches of people trying to stand taller, straighter. Meer, of course, did none of these things; he wasn't worried, he knew how impressive he was, and didn't think it he could make himself appear any more. The cunt didn't fidget, either. Shit.

"If I call your name, feel free to leave this room with your sponsor when I have finished." Fleet Master Jon Grissom called out, his eyes sweeping over his audience. Meer stared straight forward in the position of attention, though in his peripheral he could see the men of the board in front of him. He could tell where they were looking, where the axe would chop. If it had been proper, the Lieutenant Commander would have smiled, knowing it wasn't him on the chopping block. He didn't have a doubt in his mind that Meer would be the last man standing. The women didn't count, obviously.

"Commander Daniel Madison, report to your commanding officer." The Fleet Master began, the first to fall to the axe. Commander Madison merely grunted, but did nothing else. "Lieutenant Commander Thuy Nguyen, report to Ambassador Udina for transfer to the Citadel Infowar Division." Meer almost grunted at that, himself; while not what the board was for, the Infowar Division worked with Citadel Security, Special Task Groups, Turian Blackwatch, and the Counsel SPECTREs. It was a promotion, and a rather nice one for the dyke, cozying up with all the aliens and freaks."Lieutenant Colonel Mikael Dravonich, report to your commanding officer." Good riddance to rubbish. "Lieutenant Colonel Sara Carter, report to Admiral Zhao Chang after the conclusion of this meeting for reassignment." That didn't sound good for Samson and he could see in the corner of his eye the woman swaying slightly as if struck. "Lieutenant Commander Paulo Fonzarelli, report to your commanding officer." Another one bites the dust, Meer thought with glee. "Lieutenant Commander John Forsythe, report to Admiral Ahern after the conclusion of this meeting for reassignment." That was a surprise; Forsythe was going to work for Ole' Ironsides himself? Ahern was a legend, and only the best served on his team of problem-solvers. Meer had been serving alongside the man for a couple of years. So had the cunt, after Torfan. Even Meer admitted to himself that Forsythe would do well under Ahern's command, especially if he lost his knight-in-shining-armor act. Only one more to go… "That is all." Admiral Jon Grissom called out, his voice as authoritative as always, a voice that had commanded the militaries of humanity on more than a few occasions. Meer almost felt his jaw drop.

That _cunt_. That fucking _cunt_!

Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer stood there alongside Major Jennifer Hale as the other attendees and sponsors filed out, only leaving himself, Major Meer, Captain O'Brian and Captain Shepard. Ambassador Udina had said that there were only selecting one SPECTRE candidate. Only one! Why would Hale be there, unless…

Shit. That fucking _cunt_ …

They were going to have a face-off.

* * *

"That stupid, fucked-up, no-good lousy _whore_!" Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer fumed inside of Ambassador Donnel Udina's temporary office in Arcturus Station, ranting as he paced back and forth in the small office. "Conniving, two-bit _cunt_! I had this in the bag, Donnel! I wiped the floor with the rest of those pathetic wannabe's. It wasn't even a contest between me and them. But that cunt had to go and show up! Who's fucking idea was it to nominate the _fucking Butcher_ as a SPECTRE candidate? Grissom's?"

"Yes, unfortunately." Ambassador Donnel Udina replied calmly, sitting at the chair of his desk, having already swept the room for bugs, and then turning on a signal interceptor device to further impede anyone that might want to listen in on the conversation in the temporary office. One never knew who might be listening in, and Admiral Chang and his sneaky listeners weren't the only threat when it came to espionage; just the closest one. Meer had no compunctions telling the Human Ambassador what he thought or how he felt. He knew and trusted Udina; the man was the political version of him, and they had the same goals in mind. "You had everyone's vote save Grissoms' and he tore you apart. Even I spoke up for you, what good it would do against the Fleet Master. Everyone else saw you for your value and worth, Mark. Admiral Grissom may be a powerful voice, but he is just one voice."

"And the cunt?"

"She had four votes as well… surprisingly." Udina stood up from his chair, and went to a small cabinet, opening one of its metal doors. Inside was several glass bottles and several glasses as well, in which the Ambassador selected the one labeled 'Elysium Gold Whiskey'. The bottle, along with two glasses, found its way to the desk, and Udina poured several fingers worth in each glass, sliding one towards Meer. The Lieutenant Commander grunted his gratitude as he took the offered glass and took a healthy gulp of the gold-labeled whiskey, the liquor giving a pleasant burn down his throat as he swallowed it. "It was amazing to watch at first, everyone getting inside into Hale's head." Udina snorted, shaking his head sadly. "Of course the damnable Military would think a unhinged lunatic like the Butcher would be the next best thing since the discovery of Eezo; the woman's practically half-Krogan, half-Turian herself! It was all they and Grissom could do to sing her praises, turning every mass murder spree of hers into a point of honor and pride. Disgusting." The Ambassador paused to enjoy a sip of his own whiskey as he returned to his seat. "But that wasn't nearly as disgusting as watching Shule, Ramirez, and Chang make their opinions known singing the Butcher's hosannas. It was like watching a bad puppet show where the puppeteer and the marionettes aren't even disguised. If Singh hadn't remained steadfast, if he hadn't been in our camp…" The Ambassador paused for a second, and took another drink, Meer looking at the man. "If Khan Noonien Singh hadn't remembered what it is that _we_ stand for, you would be sucking transport fumes on your way back to Pinnacle Station to rejoin Ahern and his Tactical Response Unit."

"I knew I liked Admiral Khan Singh before, but now it seems I owe him a favor." The Lieutenant Commander raised his glass in salute to the Warthog, wherever the old warhorse was. Meer wasn't a man who liked owing a debt, but even he recognized that he couldn't be everywhere at once, doing everything at once, and being successful at everything. Politics was a game that he was getting good at, and the past couple of years after Akuze had him playing the political game, a rising star that would go far not only in the military forum, but perhaps even in the Halls of Parliament. A great military career was good way of being one of the movers and shakers for humanity, but politics was where the game was truly played, and in a much more interesting manner. Being a SPECTRE was just another stepping stone to his rise of power. Being known as Humanity's First SPECTRE would pave his roads with gold. He'd have to make sure to send something nice to Singh… through ubiquitous means, of course. "I was fairly certain that that bitch Carter and that boy scout Forsythe would be my only real competitors."

"Carter was easy to fix; a nice little trumped-up charge of being pro-Cerberus did away with her nicely." Udina answered with a smile, making Meer chuckle. "Too bad you couldn't see her face when she was ordered into Admiral Chang's care. Wouldn't care to be her right now, with his interrogators working her over to find out what she knows. I almost feel sorry for her; she'll be telling the truth, and they'll never believe a word out of her. I've got a few of our operators planting some evidence on her computer and among her personal effects. Nothing telling of course, just a few questionable things that'll look uglier in a scrutinizing light. Can't have anyone thinking Lieutenant Colonel Carter is being framed, can we?"

"Brilliant, Donnel. My hat's off to you." Meer replied, and he filed that technique away; it could prove useful one day, and it would be good to keep in mind in case someone tried it against him. "And Forsythe?"

"I cleaned up his records a little bit, made a few changes, made him… prettier." Udina admitted with a small shrug. "The Benning incident was a much a blow as it was a boon to him, but making him look more like a softie was one of my more subtle moves." Meer nodded, seeing the thought behind the action. "Painting him as naive as oppose to being concerned with collateral damage hurt him well. The only other one I had to touch was Fonzarelli. Chang fell for that little trap when I erased some dirt on his record, made it look like it had been wiped. Never suspected that I had made that happen. We're in this too deep to be taking chances, so I doctored up his records and made him look like an unknown quantity. Hell, I even spoke up on his behalf and sealed his fate even further in Grissom's eyes. Poor Italian bastard never stood a chance."

"And Hale?"

"Honestly, last minute addition on Grissom's part, and I had found out about it about an hour before the Board was to begin." The Ambassador admitted, his tone dark. "But the truth of the matter is I doubt there would be anything I could have done to improve your chances against her. She's too publicly known, her sins plastered all over the extranet, and her name tarnished and soiled without any of _our_ help. Any tampering on her might lead to questions we can't afford right now. Besides, I didn't think she would have stood a chance against almost any of the candidates minus the Dravonich thug and possibly Nguyen. Her name's synonymous with 'bloodbath', and it was easy to assume she would spectacularly fail. Her little rant to the board should have been her own executioners' axe, yet Grissom and the rest of them were convinced that she would be perfect for the job. I almost doubt she even knew why she was there, or what the board was for."

"Cunt." Meer muttered, polishing off his whiskey, and setting the glass on the table. "So. Orders are for a dock in the Arc, but no name of a CO or a ship. Any clues?"

"Oh yes." Udina smiled, looking up to Meer from his chair. "This is where all the disappointments are going to vanish and you find yourself like a kid in a candy shop, Mark. Tell me, have you heard anything of 'Project Normandy'?" The Ambassador asked, and it wasn't hard for the Lieutenant Commander to listen to Udina's every word.

* * *

A/N: To clear up any confusion (here and in later chapters) Jennifer Hale is 'the cunt'. Her adopted sister is 'the bitch'. If you've ever known a sexist, then you've probably seen this kind of behavior before. It was incredibly hard to write it.

As for Hale's awards, with the exception of the Order of Luna (which I created), everything based about her uniform and awards are either based off of the United States Marine Corps, or the United States Army. As an N7, she possess a green beret, which is what Army Special Forces wear, while Meer, an N2, wears a tan beret, typical for Army Rangers, though I think I'll leave the tan beret for a different purpose other than to identify other N's. I never understood why in ME only N7's were identified as Special Forces.

To me, it makes sense that a militant race like the Turians would see the Butcher of Torfan as a good thing.


	5. Grissom: Regrets

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Grissom, Regrets**

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 19, 2183 1842 Arcturus

Fleet Master Jon Grissom sat at his desk, typing up the letters of recommendations for the 'Counsel Observers' of the results of the board on his Haptic keyboard while Counsel Agent Saren Arterius stood near the front door to his office, content to watch in silence as he worked. Grissom, like many of his generation, had no love for non-human species, having fought in the brutal First Contact War in which Saren's species represented the aggressors. Saren himself had been a combatant on Shanxi, a Cabal member, if Grissom recalled correctly. Grissom's own role in the war had been far less prosaic; he had been the Fleet Master then, too, scrambling everything that could take to the skies in the defense of Shanxi. So many politicians in the Alliance Government had 'suggested' that he hold a reserve fleet back to protect Earth. Twenty-six years later, and that thought still made him snort; _fucking cowards_. There had been only one way to reach Earth from Shanxi; to FTL from the Xi System to Pax System, then to translate from the Horsehead Nebula to the Exodus Cluster, another jump to Arcturus Stream, and finally into the Local Cluster. It would have taken Turian forces a better part of a day to reach Sol System, fighting through the automated defense cannons that humanity had set up at every Relay to attack any unknown vessels in fear of alien forces, sustaining losses the whole time. In truth, the politicians probably wanted to cut and run, but there was nowhere to go at the time; humanity had only established itself in thirteen systems, and all were threatened by the discovery of a hostile alien species, as the Xi Relay would lead the Turians to every one of their settlements.

"Getting too old for this." Grissom sighed as her finished up the letters on his console, and took an empty datapad and slid it into the stations' platform to download the documents. "I haven't figured out yet if this is suppose to be a joke or the real deal, yet." He told his Turian guest, who merely ' _hmm'ed'_ at the declaration. The Fleet Master briefly wondered if the Turian had the same thought. "That Board was a Goddamn disappointment. I had hoped for better representation. I had assumed we had better."

"Politics enter into these things." Arterius commented, his tone neither cruel nor malicious. "You didn't say what the Board was for, and there are always some who slip through the cracks on both ends of the scales. Do you really think that you would have found more candidates? Better ones?"

"Better than Meer and Dravonich? Fuck yes." Grissom replied in disgust. "Those men is a fucking embarrassment to Earth, humanity, and the Alliance. I can't turn around without seeing Meer's face plastered on something, some soundbit from an interview playing, or having to hear how great he fucking is. I'm still not sure how he managed to bring down a Thresher Maw when you don't even see him fighting against pirates. I don't see the Counsel sending you boys to tackle giant Dune worms when they can get some cheap two-bit Krogan with no sense what-so-fucking-ever to do the job if necessary." Saren _'hmm'ed'_ again, never arguing with him. "Then there's the Destroyer... Goddamn walking bloodbath. I had thought Fonzarelli or Carter would be up there, possibly competing with Hale. Those three have got guts, and they fight the enemy. Each have their own strengths, and would have done well for the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. But... politics. Fucking politics." Grissom shook his head at the thought. "Hierarchy do the same thing?"

"In most aspects, yes." The SPECTRE replied, his tone neutral. "Not in the same ways. I don't think being barefaced matters much among Humanity; your species tends to frown upon facial markings that we Turians and the Asari wear. You are also not a meritocracy; you don't judge by family names... normally."

"Oh yes we do. We just don't make it obvious." Grissom answered as he pulled the datapad out of its loading dock, and laid it on the table. "Just ask General Maxwell Williams how his family fairs in the Alliance. You remember General Williams." It wasn't a question, but the Turian nodded anyhow. "His son, Marcus, never made it past Petty Officer, Third Class because armchair generals and spineless politicians want someone to blame. Raised four girls on an E-4's paycheck." The older man shook his head sadly. Marcus Williams had been a fine Sailor who had been a victim to politics, just like his oldest girl. What was her name again? Ashley? The girls probably never knew that Grissom had 'donated' money to Marcus' family every month out of respect for his friend, Maxwell. He might have been the Fleet Master, but the Admiraly Board was filled with too many name-polishers, rank-breakers, and cocksuckers for him to do what needed to get done. He did what he could with what political points, threats, blackmail, and extortion he could, but he was but one old man, and too many were ready for him to kick the bucket.

Over his dead fucking body. _Heh, that's irony for you._

"General Williams was an honorable man, and an honorable leader." Arterius admitted, and by the expression of his plates and the way his mandibles quivered, he was reluctant to admit as such. "Even in surrender, he found a way to hold us back, to give his men time to regroup while evacuating the civilian populous. I was... touched... seeing a man walking to surrender to an enemy with his head held high. We might have held every military advantage, but General Williams found every way to slow us down and deny us victory, even in his surrender, stalling to buy his men time. The galaxy could use a few more like him; selfless and determined."

"Agreed." Grissom missed his friend, Maxwell. They both graduated from Annapolis in the same Class, and Cadet Williams and Grissom had been good friends that kept in touch even after the Naval Academy. When he had heard of the attack on Shanxi, and how Maxwell had surrendered to vastly superior forces after kinetic strikes were being used on Marines on the ground foraging for food, Grissom had mustered everything smoking to aid the colony. Admiral Kasatanie Dresher had smashed through Turian ship lines from the spinward side of Shanxi with Second Fleet while he commanded First Fleet and relief forces, bombarding any attempt of escape or reorganization of the Turian Fleet holding the human colony. They liberated Shanxi at a great cost; thousands of colonists, soldiers and Marines dead on Shanxi, and thousands of Sailors from the inital attack and the liberation fleets. It should have been the triumph of the human spirit, but somehow, the message got muddled into hate.

"This... Major Hale. She does show promise." Saren finally said, his rock-grey eyes peering from his stone-colored plates. "I would be hard-pressed to find an individual with such notoriety and accolades. Perhaps an Asari Commando, or a Salarian STG tech-warrior, but very few and far between. Regardless of her species, she is quite impressive. I am looking forward to evaluating her."

"Good. Jen's probably one of the five best human beings when it comes to fighting." Grissom replied without reservation. He had been following her career for years, and it had been his signature that got her admittance into the Naval Academy in the first place, though the Daughter of Mindoir probably wasn't aware of it. When he had been notified by the Commandant of Annapolis how a survivor of Mindoir wished to be commissioned into the Alliance, Grissom almost couldn't believe it himself. There had been only fourteen survivors, and almost all of them crippled. Little Jennifer Hale, though, had exceeded everyone's expectations in the means of recovery. He had signed the document sponsoring Cadet Hale without hesitation or qualm, and had been following her career ever since. She had yet to disappoint him, though Torfan had been an utter tragedy. More fucking politics. "If her sister hadn't been MIA, you'd probably have those two as candidates. The galaxy as you know it would be fucked. Shepard and Hale separately are powerhouses. Put them together? They'd probably take over the Terminus Systems."

"A notion that has come to my mind more than once."

"Still, here's your letters, signed by me, blah blah blah." The Fleet Master tapped the datapad, indicating that the SPECTRE was done. "Oh, and Agent? Something happens to Hale while she's under your mentorship? I peel your fucking plates off with a pair of pliers and cauterize the Goddamn wounds so you can live longer. She's too important to us to hand over, but I'm willing to give her the opportunity she's earned. Lose her, and you'll find out what a crab experiences during dinner. We clear?"

"Yes." The Turian wasn't amused. Fuck him.

"Good. Go find some Turian beer and get yourself sloshed, or whatever SPECTREs do when off-duty." Grissom waved the Counsel Agent away flippantly. "Old men like me need our scotch to keep the old dreams and the dead quiet through the night."

* * *

It was late at night as Fleet Master Jon Grissom laid in his bed, reading William Butler Yeats, the night moving too slowly for his comfort. His personal quarters on Arcturus Station was dark save for the small book light he kept for his late night reading, doing nothing to aid him in sleeping. He was old enough to have retired decades ago, having earned a triple retirement from the Alliance, the old NASA program, and even the old United States Air Force. But at 81 years old, he had no plans at slowing down or retiring. He had thoughts so back in the '70's, with the intent of settling on Elysium, but after the Assault and the start of the Skyllian Blitz, he knew that the Alliance needed him more than he needed to sit on some porch sipping cognac the rest of his days. Retirement was for the weak and the useless, and he was neither.

Grissom sighed as he saved his spot in _The Collected Works of W.B. Yeats_ , thinking over the day.

 _A human SPECTRE..._

Grissom sat up from his bed and went a few feet to his personal work station, firing up the Haptic monitor, feeling nostalgic about old hardware terminals that had been the mainstay before the advent of alien technology. Selecting an app from the VIOS, the Fleet Master saw the program for a vid message come onto the screen, needing for him only to his the 'record' button to start. He thought over the day, and what he had been reading. Rubbing at his chest with his right hand, the slight pinch there an old familiar friend, he hit the 'record' button.

He didn't have that much time left.

"Jennifer," Grissom began, clearing his throat audibly, "if you're getting this message, then it means I've finally kicked the bucket. It was going to happen sooner or later, but I'm glad that it was the 'later' option. If I had my druthers, I'd live forever just so I knew for a fact that the Alliance Military Command wasn't _completely_ filled with a bunch of retards, and that someone could at least provide some sort of roadblock against the incompetency of the Alliance Parliament. Perhaps I'm too old, past my usefulness, but I've stayed in this long because in all my years, I've only found a few people among humanity I could trust to lead us to better times.

"I'm now including you into that category."

Grissom paused, collecting his thoughts, letting the message record his silence. _Oh, what tangle webs we weave,_ Grissom thought to himself, trying to remember who penned that. Shakespeare? Probably not.

"In this message I'm leaving you a part of my legacy, something I started after Shanxi." Grissom continued. "Don't worry, it's not money or anything. But what it is, is something far more valuable. Over my decades of service, I have gathered more power and accolades than perhaps any man in Earth's history, yet power and accolades are fleeting, only worth something to those that acknowledge it. Instead of something so visceral, I've given you the opportunity to make your mark in history, to rise head and shoulders above not only your contemporaries, but our enemies as well. Humanity needs a champion, a sacred defender... a crusader. I've been doing it for so long I don't know how to do anything else, and I've outlived my usefulness, I think. Yet my final act is to leave a successor, as it were; someone worthy to carry that mantle. Too few have I seen have the stones to carry that torch, to be the light in the darkness, to fight fear and despair. My own daughter, whom I love like no other, has been something of a disappointment, content in anonymity. Tadius is a good warrior and leader, but I'm afraid that he picked his politics poorly years ago, and he's backed into a corner with no way out, and he knows it. My so-called fellow Generals and Admirals are generally worth about a bucket of warm spit... collectively, though Admirals Onuda and Hackett do well enough. And there isn't a politician in Parliament that I would piss on if they were on fire to save them, up to and including the President of the Alliance, that pinko-commie fucker.

"You, Marine, I've had my eye on you for years; since you applied for Annapolis, in fact." Grissom told the message, briefly wondering if the N7 even knew that. "I know that you're aware that I recommended you for ICT School in Rio to make your N, and you made me proud getting your 7, one of only a few females to do so. You graduated first in your class in Annapolis, and first in your N course. Soon, you'll be first among humanity, representing us in a way should be represented; with honor and courage. Not some piss-poor politician whose every thought is infected with approval ratings, or some hack Admiral who thinks that being a leader means to sit in a fucking chair on Earth and letting someone else do the bleeding. You have walked through the fires of hell, and your head was always held high. You purposefully pick the harder path for yourself, making yourself a symbol. Not so you can get famous or popular or anything of that bullshit. No, you made yourself a hero, something that people of all walks of life can look up to.

"When I'm dead and gone, I'll make sure that someone I trust will get you this message. Hopefully, by then, you'll be Humanity's First SPECTRE. If that's the case, then the data files I'll be giving you will be of great value. If, for some ungodly reason, the Goddamn Counsel doesn't pull their heads out of their asses and doesn't make you a SPECTRE, I've listed here a variety of resources, accounts, and files that will help you in the future in the Alliance. Most of this shit is blackmail and extortion bullshit to keep the fuckers and Cerberus-sympathizers in line and in check. With this, you'll probably find yourself a General in a few years, and hopefully Fleet Master in a decade. Whatever you do, never back down, never let them see you afraid, and don't take no for an answer. Someone's got to lead humanity, to carry on after I'm gone. This is a close as I can do to handing this thankless shit position to you, because if I kick it in the next year or so, I don't doubt that my successor will be some Cerberus-backed cretin who will mitigate us back into the fucking Dark Ages of retardation, turning the Alliance into a bunch of xenophobes and probably tank us into a client state for the Hierarchy or the Republic in the next few decades or so.

"Well, that's it, Jen. I wish you luck in all your endeavors, and I can't wait to see the ceremony where you're made a Counsel Agent so I can unleash you on some Cerberus ass-kissing motherfuckers whose hands will be tied because you're a SPECTRE and they some terrorist assholes getting their just desserts. I regret a lot in my life, more than a few decisions that I've made, and the situation we're in now, but in this, I regret nothing. I believe in you, Jennifer Roselyn Hale, and I've done my best to give you as fresh and as clean a start as possible, above all the others. The rest I leave to you."

Grissom his the 'end' button on his terminal, and saved the file under his personal stand-alone server, adding a program that would send it to his will when he passed away. Rubbing at his chest, the pinch getting back, the old man content himself will ambling back to bed, looking at the closed book of poetry by Yeats. He opened it up, and looked at a passage, grunting at it. He read it out loud, for no one elses' benefit but his own.

 _"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,_

 _enwrought with golden and silver light._

 _The blue and the dim and the dark cloths,_

 _of night and light and the half-light._

 _I would spread the cloths under your feet,_

 _But I, being poor, have only my dreams._

 _I have spread my dreams under your feet;_

 _Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."_

Fleet Master Jon Grissom closed the _Collected Works_ and set it on his small night stand, set the alarm on his Omnitool, and content himself with lying back on his bed as he switched his reading light off. Perhaps now he would get some sleep.

* * *

A/N: The Xi System, in which Shanxi is located, is completely fictional to canon, as the only known location is that it is 'near' the Shanxi-Theta Relay, location and destination unknown. I have put the Xi System in the Horsehead Nebula, which is where Noveria and Chronos Station is located, as this was a Human-explored location.

I don't think the game explains it well, but when hopping to multiple systems and clusters, I'm not sure if one just blasts through all the relays to the final destination like a game of Pipe Dream or not. In this story, a vessel blasts through a Relay, and then goes through another in the Relay Network, usually in another system that requires a FTL journey, like a multi-stop airline flight where one goes through an airport and boards another plane. They also don't explain how fast FTL is, or how fast a 'translation' (Relay-to-Relay) is. In ME 1, Sovereign supposedly could FTL at 30x Speed of Light in a 24 hour period (about 11,000x Speed of Light), which was twice the speed of most Citadel ships. By ME 3, human star ships could go at 50x Speed of Light in a 24 hour period.

In this story, a standard FTL drive can travel a Parsec (pc) in an hour (a Parsec is a one degree angle Parallax of an Astronomical Unit over one arc second, or 1% Arc of the Galaxy, approximately 3.26 ly). From Local Cluster to the Arcturus Stream, the shortest Relay jump, is 1.03 kpc away. The game states that electrostatic discharge will build up, and a vessel will require discharge, which I have made that the time traveled will equal the time needed to discharge at an even rate (1 hour of FTL travel will require at least 1 hour of discharging), effectively doubling all travel times.

In this story, a standard Mass Relay Jump can travel a kiloParsec in an hour (3261 ly/hr). Local Cluster to Arcturus Stream takes an hour, while Local to Exodus is 2.57 kpc away, and thus is just over a two and a half hour jump. In this story, a Mass Relay Translation also needs discharging when exiting a relay, and will equal a 1 hour traveled to 1 hour discharge ratio.

"Oh, what tangled webs we weave" is actually a line from _Marmion_ , by Sir Walter Scott. It is actually 'Oh, what a tangled web we weave', but close enough.

Real Life Jennifer Hale's middle name, according to the iMDB, is 'R.' I picked Roselyn for my Major Jennifer Hale.


	6. Hale: Dock 54B

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Hale, Dock 54B**

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 20, 2183 0732 Arcturus

Major Jennifer Hale strode onto the platform known as Dock 54B, seeing the platform populated with several Marines and sailors, each loaded with seabags packed with personal equipment, clothing, and effects. She herself had one as well, and as she strode onto the platform, saw that the platform was also housing a brand-new virgin Frigate… a Frigate unlike anything she had ever seen. It looked Human Alliance at first, but there were some things that were… off. The wings didn't sweep back far enough, and there were four thruster engines instead of two. The length of the bow was much longer than normal, and it seemed that the mid-deck was longer than usual as well. Where the engine would sit seemed a good deal bulkier, as if it had a larger Mass Effect core contained, but who would do that to a Frigate? And finally, there were panels and finned slats that ran down the length of the vessel, looking almost like… well, almost like radiators and heat sinks.

If Hale didn't know better, it almost looked as if someone had let a human Frigate get raped by a Turian one, and this was the result.

Jen studied the profile of the Frigate, getting to know its curves and sweeps, her eyes going into intimate detail every panel of ablative armor and recessed port on the ship. If she had been ordered here, and there was a vessel in the same location, it stood to reason that this strange little Frigate would be the ship she would serve on next. She hadn't gotten any more information from the board or from High Admiral Grissom other than they would be joining in on some co-op missions with a pair of SPECTREs. The fact that the asshat Meer would be a part of it was wrinkle, but Jen felt tentatively optimistic about the whole ordeal. Sure, the Frigate looked strange, but it was straight off the production line, and the new ship smell was all over the platform. An eyeball around the platform to check out the personnel had Hale almost goggle; she knew many of them by reputation, and a few personally. There was Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Pressly, a First-Grade Navigator that made his chops finding faster, more efficient ways through the system of Relays throughout Human Alliance space, only so a ship could chase down pirates and smugglers that much better. There was First Lieutenant Mark Adams, a stellar engineer and guru on Mass Effect Core engines, so good that even she had heard of the man. There was a Doctor she knew by name, one Commander Karin Chakwas, who was supposedly one of the best in the business. There was Lieutenant (j.g.) Paul Alverson, a radar/LADAR technician that had found a way to increase sensory output by ten percent a year or so ago. And didn't she just see Master Sergeant Paula Maldonado, the Typhoon of Eden Prime, mingling with some of the others? There were a good deal of privates and seamen in among the crowd or seventy or so, with a smattering of Chiefs, Sergeants, and Officers among them, names and faces Hale didn't recognize.

And one fact in the crowd did jump out at her, and Jen had to smile.

"Kaiden!" Major Hale called out, striding over to to the man she had spotted among the crowd of military members, who happened to be currently talking to a Petty Officer, 3rd Class Halverson, a youngish-looking blonde woman who had a badge identifying her as a Yeoman. The Lieutenant (junior grade) looked over at the sound of his name, and the dark-haired man smiled easily at the sight of her as she came over. PO3 Halverson looked over as well, a slightly miffed look upon her face at first when some random woman had called upon the man she had been talking to, Hale noticed wryly, but the looked disappeared into one of shock, awe, and a healthy amount of worry when she saw who approached the Lieutenant. "Kaiden Alenko, you son of a bitch! I haven't seen you since Praxia!" Jen held out her hand, which the Biotic Lieutenant took with a clap, the sign of friendship obvious to anyone in visual and audio distance. "See you got over being an Ensign. How's that silver bar on your collar treating you?"

"Like more work without the equal amount of pay." Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko replied easily with a shrug and a smile, his brown eyes smiling just as much as his lips were. "If I had known you'd be on this assignment, Major, I'd have brought poker cards so we could continue fleecing the crew of its pay like we did on that blasted planet."

"Yeah, but this time, you play the innocent 'I-Don't-Know-How-To-Play-Skyllian-Five' routine. You're a better flirt than me." Jen told the Biotic, making him laugh while the Petty Officer next to him had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from embarrassing herself, her upper body vibrating with a stifled chuckle. Hale looked over PO3 Halverson, and found the Yeoman to be an attractive blonde with a lean body that filled out her uniform in all the right places. Jen didn't mention the other game that she and Kaiden played back on Praxia, the weeks spent interdicting smugglers and species traffickers by collecting Omnitool messages and extranet requests by visiting bars, clubs, dives, dens, and halls. There had been ten of them working undercover, and about fifty smugglers and slavers. To keep to their cover, Kaiden played himself off as a duel gender-seeking playboy (which he was) and Hale as his alcoholic lesbian wingman (which wasn't much of a stretch). The act had them capturing a third of the the criminals without a shot fired between the two of them. Praxia, while a shit hole, represented one of the best times of her life, and she had found a trusted and valued friend in then-Ensign Kaiden Alenko. Kaiden had never failed to pick up at least two people from any of the locales they were hunting the pirates at, and even Jen admitted that he had her beat at it. Hale briefly wondered if Halverson was another in a long line of conquests for Kaiden Alenko, or was going to be. She'd have to ask when the Yeoman wasn't around. Hale wasn't afraid to have options available. But it would be nice having Kaiden along for the ride. Having a friend on a new assignment always made things easier. "You know much?" The Marine asked the sailor, tilting her head towards the Frigate.

"Not much. That's what me and Petty Officer Halverson were just talking about." Kaiden Alenko admitted, his smooth face plastered with a raised eyebrow. "Ship supposedly just left the shipyard, and got a vote of approval from the Brass. It's name and mission, those I have no idea. But I do believe I know who is in Command. Old buddy of yours, Captain Anderson."

"As in David Edward Anderson? 'First N7' Anderson? The Black Fox himself?" Hale asked, both shocked and surprised by the intel, seeing the Lieutenant's and the Petty Officer's head both nodding. Captain Anderson… man was nearly as legendary as Jon Grissom! The 'N' school had been running for five years before someone finally completed it to its highest course, then Lieutenant (j.g.) David Edward Anderson just coming off the FCW and proceeded to make history. Whenever humanity was in a jam, whenever humans were threatened, the 'N's' were there, led by the man they called the Black Fox. Truman, Galantz, Mindoir, Benning, Noveria… who knew how many hotspots and troubled incidents had been dealt with and solved by one of the finest warriors to ever walk on Earth. Anderson had been Jannie's mentor and friend, the man who recommended Jen's adopted sister into 'N' school; the only person he had ever recommended. Jen had gotten her recommendation from Admiral Jon Grissom himself, who had attended her graduation ceremony when she received her distinction of graduating the top of her class. Grissom had been there for Jannie's as well when she graduated the top of her class the year before. Jen had been there for her sister, but during her own graduation, Jannie had been mysteriously absent. Then-Commander Hannah Shepard had been there, as well as Captain David Anderson, but not her adopted sister.

"None other." Alenko confirmed, nodding his head. "I saw him approximately twenty minutes ago getting onto the ship with a man I presume to be the pilot, some guy on crutches." Hale ' _hmm_ 'ed' the information, remembering hearing about some hot-shot pilot who had a bad case of the brittle-bone disease. Supposedly rated beyond testing methods. "We're still early, but I have a feeling that Captain Anderson will be coming out here to address us in a few minutes. Any idea what's going on, Major?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Hale teased the Lieutenant, giving Petty Officer Halverson an obvious wink in the blonde's direction. "Not that you would believe me at all. Let's just say we're going to have a couple of visitors on our maiden voyage. VIP's like you wouldn't believe." Jen looked over to the back end of the dock, and she spied one of the VIP's that she was talking about. It looked like the stone-colored one. Saren, Saren Arterius. Jennifer had seen that name on the news and on the extranet. High-profile SPECTRE, supposedly one of the best in the business. The Turian was standing in the recess of some container boxes, not exactly hiding but not making himself obvious, either. If the stone-colored one was there, then the black-faced one with the white colony markings would be there, too. Two SPECTREs. The implications were ominous. Didn't SPECTREs usually work alone?

"Oh, look! It's Commander Meer!" Petty Officer Halverson exclaimed, looking at the entry point of the dock, and Jen felt herself groaning at the tone in the Petty Officer's voice; exuberant, cheerful, and full of awe. It seemed that the asshat had himself a fan in the blonde as she looked over to the man in question with obvious adoration in her green eyes. Jen looked over to Kaiden and rolled her eyes, the N7's opinion of the Ego of Akuze to the Biotic, who shared his own disdain of Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer, having served with him when he got out of BAaT over two years before. Thankfully, Lieutenant Alenko hadn't been blindsided by the impression of Meer, and saw the man for what he really was; an overstuffed peacock. Unfortunately, PO3 Halverson looked as if she had just dropped an egg into her womb in the asshat's honor. Perhaps Jen should take the blonde aside and let her know some of Meers' little proclivities… such as treating woman like second-class citizens, sleeping with them, and them ditching them just as quickly. It was a pity that Meer seemed to know how to target the ones with weak self-esteem and poor choices in men, otherwise he'd slip up and try ditching a Biotic who could warp his ass for treating them like a toilet seat. "Do you think he'll be on this mission, too?" Halverson practically gushed, the stars in her eyes bright enough to charge up batteries with solar cells.

"Un-fucking-fortunately." Hale groused, her tone leaving no mistaken impression of her thoughts on the N3 from Old New York. Alenko was trying his best to hide a smile from behind his hand while the Petty Officer looked at the Major as if she had grown a third eyeball. Jen ignored the non-commissioned officer's shock as she pulled out her silver cigar case and pulled out an Arcturus Blend Gold Label cigar from it. The N7 stuffed the cigar in her mouth, bit the end off and spat it out onto the deck of the dock before sticking it in between her lips and lighting the end of it with a lighter function on her Omni-tool. The woman from Mindoir took a few healthy puffs of the Gold Label cigar, bluish smoke waifing from her mouth as she offered it to Alenko first, who declined naturally, and then to Halverson, who looked horrified by the thought. Shrugging her shoulders, Jen puffed on her cigar again as her brown eyes watched Meer stride into the dock as if he owned the place, appraising the ship with a calm demeanor without looking around. Hale knew the attitude; he wouldn't look at his fellows or subordinates, thinking them beneath him as he studied the only thing he thought a match for him; his Commanding Officer and the ship he was about to serve on. To Meer, everything else was just an annoying distraction or something that would be at his beck-and-call. Jen would go straight and suck a cock before giving Meer the time of day. Hell, she outranked the 'Lieutenant Commander' even though she was a Marine on-board a Naval vessel. There wasn't a damn think that Mark could do that she couldn't outperform blindfolded, including with the company of women. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that not only would she be stuck with the asshat for the duration of the voyage, but might have to work alongside the glory hound. Perfect.

"Don't worry too much, Major. I doubt he'll be trying to turn your deeds into his own, it would ruin his pretty-boy image." Kaiden surmised with a chuckle, making Jen smile around her cigar. Halverson only looked at them as if they had lost their damn minds.

"Are we even talking about the same person here?" The Petty Officer hissed, her green eyes wide and flashing. "He's the Hero of Akuze! He's fought Thresher Maws on foot! After…"

"Whole platoon got killed. I know the story. It's a real tear-jerker." Hale snorted, her eyes still on the back of the man she despised, dozens of meters away, well out of earshot. "Ask him how many Theshers there were. Number seems to grow every year, along with how long he was all by his lonesome on that planet. Seems strange that he could survive such a clusterfuck by himself against a creature that Krogan acknowledge as the galaxy's greatest predator, but can't seem to pass 'N' school." Jen shut her mouth before she put more of her opinion out in the open in front of someone she didn't know and trust. It hadn't been hard to listen to Kaiden during their time on Praxia, when the then-Ensign had been bitter about how an assault that Alenko had led with a small squad had been written as _Meer's_ assault and plan, as if the man had been there. Meer had supposedly taken down a den of smugglers who numbered somewhere around thirty with only seven Marines. Kaiden had told a completely different story; there had only been a dozen smugglers, and Meer had been in the drop ship that was responsible for depositing the squad of Marines on an asteroid that was being used by the smugglers as a hub of their ill-gotten gains. Hale had heard such stories before from various Marines and Sailors over the years, and she wondered what really happened on Akuze. A sole survivor could claim anything, after all. Had Meer been responsible for killing a Thresher Maw on foot, or had his platoon done the deed? Had Meer really been the sole survivor, or just an opportunist? For a glory hound, Meer's resume was lacking in the accolades department, save for Akuze. True, being the Butcher of Torfan wasn't exactly the shiniest moment in her career, but nobody doubted what Major Jennifer Hale could do. "Enough of Meer. You'll see soon enough what he's like, Chief. That is if he doesn't charm your panties off with one breath while insulting all womenkind with the next." Halverson didn't seem how to take the news, but when she glanced to Kaiden Alenko to only see the Biotic Lieutenant nodding his head slowly, her green eyes went wider, sneaking a glance towards the Lieutenant Commander, who was still inspecting the hybrid Frigate, seemingly studying every bolt and rivet.

More people began to populate Dock 54B, most of them Sailors, though more than a few Marines were showing up as well. A few military civilians seemed to be a part of the voyage as well, Hale noted, seeing them in uniform that was without visible rank, denoted only by the 'GS' series of numbers. There were a couple of non-military civilians on the Dock, specifically the minister of Defense Charles Schwartz, and the other one, the Human Ambassador to the Citadel. What was his name again? Udino? Adama? Hale couldn't remember as she puffed away on her cigar, knowing that if the civilians had showed up, that things were going to be starting up soon. Couldn't keep the civvies waiting, after all. True to form, the airlock of the Frigate opened, and a beast of a man exited off the ship, walking onto the platform of the gangplank that would bring the personnel of the vessel to and fro from dock to ship. All eyes went to the man in his pressed blue Duty Service Uniform, the normal work attire for both Naval and Marine personnel. The man was easily recognizable; as wide as a Krogan, and as tall as a Turian, the man of African descent would stand out even in a crowd of aliens. It was the aura he had, the bearing he carried. It was impossible to ignore, that air of authority and violence, that command of fear and respect. Hale suspected that she didn't have a tenth of such a presence compared to the man with Captain's bars on his uniform, the sleeves of his DSU's rolled up passed his bulging biceps, each easily measuring over 70 centimeters in circumference. Lord only knew how big his chest was, but if Hale had to guess, it was probably getting close to 170 centimeters. The man looked as if he could wrestle a Krogan, break a Turian in half, and eat a Salarian and spit out a gecko.

Captain David Edward Anderson. The Black Fox himself.

Captain Anderson put his sausage-like fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing shill whistle, garnering everyones' attention that stood on Dock 54B, if they had missed the bear of a man exiting the airlock. Every pair of eyes were on the man on top of the gangplank, his 200 centimeter height making him look all that more monstrous. His brown orbs scanned everyone in front of him, and Hale found herself the target of his scan as his eyes went to her, and a twitch of a smile went to his lips. Anderson had always put 'N's up front, and doubly so for 7's. She knew what he wanted before he even said it. But she let him say it anyhow; the Black Fox was old-school like that.

"Hale."

" _Alright, you mouth-breathing apes! Fall in!_ " Major Jennifer Hale used what she liked to call her 'big girl' voice, moving to the front part of the Dock, standing in a spot where the formation she had just called for would center itself in front of her. Sailors and Marines scrambled to make the formation, standing in rows of twelve, seven rows deep. The process took several moments as men and women adjusted themselves according to the necessary distances. It took her a moment to see the one-hundred and thirty Sailors and Marines standing in front of her in formation, the few civilian counterparts in the back. She gave them a steely-eyed gaze until everyone was in their correct positions, correcting the little deficiencies on their own. The gaze didn't falter until she was satisfied with what she saw; a formation that looked like it was suppose to, as oppose to some slop-bucket dickbag clusterfuck. Satisfied, Hale let out a deep breath as she did a proper about-face, looking towards the Frigate and its Commanding Officer, who strode down the gangplank to take control of the formation that was now in front of him. As soon as he stood in front of her, the Major offered the Black Fox a crisp, clean salute. Anderson returned the same kind of salute, a silent smile on his lips as her hand went down, followed by Hale's own. Jen stepped off to her right, walking towards the back of the formation, behind everyone else; where the second-in-command would be located whenever the CO was up front. The Major walked by Lieutenant Commander Meer, who had been behind the last row, assuming the very position she was about to occupy. The asshat looked her with ugly fury, and she couldn't help but to make a 'snick' noise in between her bared teeth, indicating that it was in his best interest to vacate her spot. His face went even darker with fury, but they both knew that there was nothing he could do as Mark Meer took two steps forward and introduced himself glumly to the line of Naval Civilian contractors and personnel, looking out of place with the GS's. Hale occupied her ordained spot, and did her best to fight off the smirk that threatened to grow on her face.

Damn, that had felt _good_.

"At ease!" Captain Anderson bellowed, dropping the personnel in the formation from attention to a more relaxed modified position, where each member stood with their feet a little wider than shoulder-width apart, their hands clasped behind the small of their backs. "Welcome, sailors and Marines, to the Alliance's newest Frigate. This ship is one-of-a-kind, an experimental hybrid ship utilizing both human and Turian design to make a Scout-Reconnaissance vessel that can go in and out of any situation… undetected.

"Welcome to the _Normandy_." The Black Fox smiled.

* * *

The crew of the brand-new Ohio-Class Frigate, the SR-1 _Normandy,_ were still getting acquainted with the experimental Frigate as Major Jennifer Hale stood in the Central Information Center, the ships' bridge, or CIC, one like she had never seen before. It had elements of human design on it, but there were obvious ideas in it that were obviously of Turian thought; the CO stood in the back of the bridge where he could view all of his subordinates instead of up front, a large projection unit dominated the center of the bridge with work stations surrounding it, and the airlock was damn near at the pilot's back as oppose to behind the bridge. Still, a spin around the old girl had Hale liking the feel and design of the ship. No longer just the angles and sharp edges that the Alliance favored, making the inside of a ship almost as lovable as hugging a set of Ginsu Knives, this ship had curves. There was a classy elegance to it, the sweeps of the railing, the gentle slope of the hull, the teardrop shape of the bridge that ended at a point at the cockpit. Major Hale stood by the command point where Anderson would look upon the myriad displays informing him of the multiple statuses of the ship, as well as the ships' relative position in a system, cluster, or even the galaxy in real-time.

It was a beautiful sight.

"You look a little lost there, Major."

Jen turned to see Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Pressly standing nearby, looking upon the ship in much of the same manner as she was, his more experienced eye gracing the hybrid ship. Though she had served on many a space command, this was the first time she was going to be part of the Command Team. Captain Anderson had already signed off on her orders as being the _Normandy's_ Executive Officer, essentially making her his second-in-command. The move had surprised her, to say the least. She hadn't questioned it in front of the Black Fox, but she wasn't sure why he hadn't slated Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer for the position. As much as she hated the asshat's guts, it was the perfect role for him, and he would fill it well, being a Navy man. She was a Marine, after all; a ground commander. Her skills and talents were best used in warfare and tactical situations, not space travel and ship-on-ship tactics. She had taken the necessary classes for it, of course, back in Annapolis, and had scored very well. Yet texts and manuals were one thing; actually commanding a vessel was something else completely. Someone like Pressly would do good as a Frigate's XO, as would Meer. She had fully expected herself to be the vessel's Security Officer, as well as its' ground-side commander, her normal duty position on most of the ships she had served on. Serving as an XO on a Naval vessel was a surprise, but a good one; Captain Anderson wouldn't have given it to her if he didn't think she could perform the job. A good performance review and recommendation would go well in her Officer Record Brief, and most likely get her reviewed for a promotion, usually sooner rather than later.

"Just admiring the view of it all, Commander Pressly." The Major jutted her chin towards the CIC and the bridge, as well as the ergonomics of it. "A joint human-Turian design? I wouldn't have thought that something of the like would look so… sleek."

"Say what you want about the spikes, but they know how to make damn good ships." The Lieutenant Commander puffed out, rubbing at the bald spot that encompassed the top portion of his head. "Never been an XO before, have you?"

"Nope. That obvious?"

"A little." Pressly replied, a rueful smile on his face. "I was the XO for the _Thermopylae_ for the past year. You need pointers, just come to me."

"Better you than Meer." Hale scoffed, earning a chuckle from the balding man. "Oh, you've worked for the asshat before?"

"Yeah. Few years back." The Lieutenant Commander replied distastefully, shaking his head. "I had just been promoted to LTC, attached to Ahern's Tactical Response Unit aboard the _Enterprise_. Meer was the up-and-coming Second-Watch Officer while I was busting my chops as the Second-Watch Navigator. Man's a good sailor, knows his stuff, but he's a back-stabbing, credit-stealing embarrassment to the System Alliance. Makes me wonder if he really did those things on Azuke he's so proud to boast about."

"Yeah, I've wondered about that too a time or two, myself." Jen admitted, her tone quiet as she looked around at the people who were settling into their positions on the bridge, the officers and enlisted members of the _Normandy_ beginning their first shift, running systems checks and arranging screens for optimum performance. "Sole survivor can say anything, and he has claimed to have done the work that others have accomplished. Could have somebody else brought down a Thresher Maw, died in the process, and the little gloryhound just up and took the credit?" Jennifer shook her head slowly, chewing on her lip as Pressly watched on.

"He may be a lot of things, but I've never actually heard of Mark Meer running from a fight." The Navigator told her.

"Never heard of him running into one, either." Hale retorted, and Pressly didn't disagree.


	7. Arterius: Comm Room

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Arterius, Comm Room**

SSV _Normandy,_ Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 20, 2183 0917 Arcturus

Counsel Agent Saren Arterius stood in the communications room along with Nihlus Kryik, Captain David Anderson, and Major Jennifer Hale, whom the Humans were looking at the crew manifests for the new Alliance Ohio-Class Frigate. Evidently, the Alliance did things differently than the Hierarchy by having to make do with what the Office of Naval Personnel gave them. According to the Major, most of the crew members seemed to be top-rated in their various fields, Hale giving off antecedents about some of the members she had worked with in the past, or reading through what she called their 'record briefs' for an idea of their training, specialties, and services accommodations. It reminded the Turian of his time as a Talon Strike Leader of the Cabal back when he served in the Hierarchy.

"We can put Lieutenant Alenko as the Platoon Leader, with Master Sergeant Maldonado as the Platoon Sergeant; we don't really have enough Marines to rate a First Sergeant." The Major spoke to the Captain, working through the datapad that she was holding in her hand, bringing up personnel on a separate Haptic display for the organizational chart. "Alenko's an L2 Biotic with a Technical Engineer rating through the Navy. Says he's rated as a first-class electrician and third-class programmer. That'll be good out on the ground." Captain Anderson contented himself by merely grunting in acknowledgement. "Master Sergeant Maldonado's the Typhoon; you couldn't ask for a finer NCO. Hell, she was my Platoon Sergeant back when I was just a skimpy little butterbar back in the 2nd Expeditionary. Took her some digging, but she did manage to find my head up my ass and pulled it out for me." That had the older N7 Captain laughing, and even Nihlus chuckled from the side, while Saren merely stayed silent. He never did get Human humor.

"Well, with a full compliment of forty Marines, we should have even rotations on watch, as well as security and ground ops." The Black Fox indicated, looking at the display that Major Jennifer Hale was populating with personnel. "For once, the ONP actually got us not only the necessary personnel, but almost all of them have had at least a tour under their belt, and a good many have transferred from their previous commands with letters of recommendations and awards of commendations."

"Heavy on skills and kills is good." The Major allowed, her voice neutral as the Turian SPECTRE slyly looked to the Major's work, seeing that most of the ship's duty positions were filled, a small photo icon for each personnel responsible for it. "Three positions remain, Captain; Security Officer, Ground Engagement Officer, and Executive Officer." Saren could see only two icons left over from the roster of potentials, one being Major Hale herself, and the other being Lieutenant Commander Meer. Hale looked back at him, and Saren hated the fact that he was spotted, but showed nothing to indicate his displeasure. She surprised him with a twist of her lips, what he recognized to be a humorous smile for Humans. "Well, we could throw him in as Cabin Boy…"

"Jen…" Captain Anderson replied, but there was a slight chuckle to his tone, and Arterius knew that the Major was not under any scrutiny. In the Hierarchy, such a flagrant show of disrespect or disobedience around a superior officer would have had a Turian knocked down in the meritocracy, if not officially reprimanded. Sometimes he wondered how the Humans managed to fight so well against the Hierarchy's forces during the Relay 314 Incident. They were nothing if not tenacious. Looking at the two N7's, possibly some of the best warriors Humanity had ever produced, even the SPECTRE would grudgingly admit that the Interplanetary Combative Training Facility in Rio de Janeiro made soldiers that could hold themselves against some of the best the galaxy could offer. Saren had seen an N7 take down an Asari Commando, a former Deathwatch member, and even a Krogan berserker. No SPECTRE had fallen to an N7, but then again, that was because neither had a chance to be on opposite sides of a 'discussion' yet, either. Saren wondered how Captain Anderson or Major Hale would hold themselves against someone like, say, Nihlus Kryik, who was more along the lines of a well-trained commando. While he didn't think he would have to worry about anything, he was also a Cabal-trained Turian Biotic, and that would be a more along the lines of an unfair fight. Now himself and Commander Shepard, on the other hand…

"Hey, Palaven to Arterius! You awake?"

Saren shook his head, and saw that the duty roster was mostly done, and he saw that Major Hale had asked him a question, which he had missed with his ruminations.

"I apologize. My thoughts were elsewhere while you were executing your duties." The SPECTRE replied diplomatically, not something he was use to doing among the Humans. "What was the question, again?"

"This SPECTRE co-op stuff, is there anything special we need to know for accommodations besides food, medicine and a place to sleep?" Hale asked him, not looking to Nihlus. Strange, she hadn't been told yet; how would she knew that he was the one in charge? He filed that thought away for later. "No one's really told us anything like length of stay, duration, special needs. Y'know, the little things that can really turn a cruise like this from a nice vacation into two weeks of hell in a tin can."

"We have brought most of our own provisions and equipment in the crates that were loaded into the cargo bay." The Turian finally replied, thinking things over. "I… thank you for your concern and consideration."

"Please! You're a seven foot tall Turian, you're a little hard to ignore! Plus, you have an assault rifle that makes me contemplate having a cage match with you with that as the prize." The Marine returned with a leveled look at said HMWAR VII SPECTRE Assault Rifle that was attached to his back. "It's almost worth being executed for just to touch it. If it didn't explode in my hands instantly."

"You may just get your wish soon enough." Nihlus retorted with a Turian chuckle, and Saren almost pounced on his friend for such a comment. Anderson knew why they were there, but neither Hale nor Meer had been told yet. A slip like that might let them know too early on. Yet the way Hale looked at Nihlus, her blue eyes turning into slits as she mentally connected the dots between what she had said, and what his fellow SPECTRE had answered with. Then her eyes got wide. Real wide.

"Are you _shittin'_ me?" The Major turned to the Black Fox, her tone somewhere between surprised and ugly, her hands on her hips as she leaned forward towards Captain Anderson in an almost predatory fashion. "Please don't tell me what I think this is! The Board? The others? _SPECTREs_? The Counsel is recruiting… and they're giving us a shot, aren't they?"

"Jen…" Anderson sighed, holding up his hands as his face took on a pained look, looking over to Saren and Nihlus. He couldn't tell her, even if she had figured it out. Hale noticed the look as her eyes went to Saren, narrowing on him. The SPECTRE was unpleasantly reminded that this woman had killed some forty _thousand_ slavers of almost every race, as well as a good number of pirates, smugglers, and raiders. While he didn't necessarily fear her or her title, she was a woman who had found a goal and accomplished better than anyone else in the galaxy. He didn't fear her, but he did respect her.

"Captain? If you could please give us a few moments? You were sworn under oath not to disclose what I'm about to tell the Major." The Turian told the Black Fox. "I don't want this hurting your friendship because Hale was able to figure it out due to _someone's_ loose mandibles." Saren glared at his partner, who at least had the presence of mind to look bashful, if only a little bit. The Captain of the _Normandy_ excused himself, as did Nihlus, and soon they were alone in the conference room. Major Hale was leaning her back against the railing by the Haptic display screens, her face somewhere in between a scowl and distaste. Saren found himself truly studying her as he hadn't before. He guessed that she was average-looking for a Human woman, if the adverts on the Citadel could be believed as to what Human beauty could be. Her brown fringe-hair was done up in a rounded bun with two metal sticks shoved through it, showing off all of her face, which was decorated with a long scar that vivisected diagonally across her face, starting from her forehead and going to her cheek, slanting between her eyes and going across the bridge of her nose. The way that she glared at him though made her fierce, her face determined, and with that, she truly looked like a graceful predator.

"So… this is what this is all about? Human SPECTREs?" Hale asked, her tone ugly.

"A SPECTRE, yes." Saren answered, looking at the Major as she snorted, her eyes going to the Haptic display where the three positions were still available. "You and Meer are the first Human SPECTRE candidates ever, while Nihlus and I shall be both your observers as well as your minders. We shall be going through a series of missions together, each a different scenario to see if either of you have what it takes, and to gauge the type of decisions you make."

"Me, a SPECTRE?" The woman scoffed. "That has Grissom's handwriting all over it. Old Man's always pushed me forward, but he's always had my back, too." Saren merely grunted at that, having witnessed the Board where the Fleet Master had defended Hale from every accusation who sat on it. "Honestly? It scares me, the thought of me being a Counsel Agent, if you don't mind me saying. I know what the crap videos and Blasto movies say; unlimited access and authority, working behind the scenes to do the things no one will ever know about. That kind of autonomy and power can get abused really quickly. We Humans even got a saying for it; absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"That's… a pretty philosophical way of looking at it. It's true, too." Arterius admitted, thinking of some of the SPECTREs in the past who had done just that; grown corrupt. "We look for warriors, true, but the fact is we aren't always the best warriors, _per se_. I, for instance, was not the best member of my Blackwatch team. I was not the best shot, nor the most powerful Biotic. In fact, there was one who was better than me in both cases. Yet I was selected. Why?"

"Personality?" Hale ventured a guess, her tone holding only a little doubt.

"Exactly." The Turian replied. "Though I wasn't the best of my team, I had the mindset that was needed. That I didn't fail a mission was a plus, but they also wanted someone who could make the kind of decisions that were necessary. For instance, a simple scenario; you have a bad guy and an innocent who is tied to a bomb, and time to do only one thing. You can save the innocent person, or you can kill the bad guy. What do you do?"

"I've had real-life scenarios just like that." The N7 grimaced, looking as if she had taken a bite out of some rancid meat. "The honest answer has always been about the situation at-hand. If the bad guy is someone like an assassin or a political extremist, someone who would kill a lot more than one person down the road, then I'd go after the bad guy. If the perpetrator is something less than that, then I'd save the innocent. But there's never a clear-cut answer to it; the decision always rests on what I'd feel is correct at the time, and take whatever fallout comes from it, good or bad."

"A good answer when there is none." Saren nodded, impressed. "It is true, such situations never come with an easy answer, yet you stated it well; it does rest with all the circumstances at the time. And that is part of what it means to be a SPECTRE, finding that person who can _live_ with the decision and the consequence. During your Board, I was unimpressed with what I saw with most of the candidates. Most had never seen such a scenario, and it would be unknown how they would react. The couple that had, such as yourself and Lieutenant Commander Forsythe, we had clear evidence on how you handled such situations. Forsythe's singular incident played out well, but I wonder if it was intentional, or by… what was the Human phrase? 'With the chair on your posterior'?"

"By the seat of your ass." That had the Marine's horizontal mandibles, no, lips, twitch in response into a fraction of a smile. "I'll give the guy credit, he didn't want to kill rioting colonists, and found a way how not to do it. I respect the hell out of that. But I think it was more luck than anything, unless he possesses some amazing oratory skills."

"Yes, but that is something that can't always be relied upon, and that is not going to an option most of the time. No Turian would have done that… but being a SPECTRE isn't about being what a Turian would do, or an Asari or Salarian. It is about what the mission _requires_ , and doing what it takes to accomplish it. Sometimes it is discretion. Sometimes it is brutality. What the Counsel seeks in a SPECTRE is a being who can tell the difference between the two and do what is required in order to better secure not only peace in the galaxy, but also security." Saren explained.

"Can't always fight for peace, though." Hale replied, slowly nodding her head. "Sometimes, the better choice is one most would abhor, like starting a war to prevent something worse from happening."

"You speak of the Relay 314 Incident?" The SPECTRE asked, a little surprised when he saw the Human woman nodding her head. "That was indeed exactly why we started it. Did the Hierarchy handle everything after the initial events badly when your Alliance defense fleet above Shanxi defeated and destroyed our patrol? Could we have handled that better? Most definitely. Yet I think of that first ships' captain who spotted your Alliance science vessel trying to activate the Relay. Perhaps he could have opened up a channel and attempted to enter some type of negotiations, yet I would still readily defend his actions of doing what it took to secured the peace… even at the price of a war upon an unknown race. While Turians never fought the Rachni, we have been told enough times the fear that the Asari and Salarians felt during those years of fighting those creatures, how desperate they were, how close they came to losing. Imagine your First Contact War two thousand years prior with a species eighteen times the Turian population that can spit acid and tear anything apart in close combat. If the Salarians had not discovered the Krogan and made their decision to uplift them for the cause of shock troops, the Rachni would have easily taken over the galaxy."

"Yeah. I hate bugs." The N7 Marine shivered, her face scrunching up slightly. "To pass one of our courses to being an N7, they put you in a scenario where you have to deal with one of your bigger fears while having to lead troops and making decisions. Mine was in an infested pit filled with cockroaches." Saren had to look that up, and found the insect the Major had named to be an offensive-looking creature just begging to be smashed with a heel. "Can you imagine being dressed in some civilian's clothes in a pit full of bugs while giving orders through an Omnitool, feeling little legs crawling all over your skin?" The Human woman shuddered with the memory, and while Saren didn't inform her that Turian plates wouldn't feel such things, there were creatures on Palaven that were small and distasteful that he wouldn't want on him. It was an interesting training exercise, inducing fear and stress into a situation where one had to exert control over their own fears and instincts.

Everything that Saren had heard of about ICT had impressed him, each course more difficult that the last. It wasn't about being the best physically or mentally, but about making a soldier capable of dealing with so many different scenarios, whether prepared or not. The Turian Deathwatch had some similarities in its training program, and had almost the exact same washout rate as the Systems Alliance Interplanetary Combative Training program; 90%, and that was just to pass the N1 course. Last he heard, there was only about 74 N7's in the Alliance Military… out of over 2,000 potentials. That was less than a 4% success rate. Of all the men and women at the Board, only Major Hale had completed the entire course and received the coveted N7 badge.

"So do you want to go through with this?" The Turian asked her, impressed with her reservations. Being a SPECTRE wasn't an honor or a publicity stunt; it was a calling, a sacred duty. Many Turians who became potential candidates never knew that they were quickly eliminated at the onset when the first words out of their mandibles was 'I would be honored…'. The Counsel wasn't looking for glory hounds.

"Mostly… no." The Human female admitted, slowly shaking her head. "I've worked so hard to being better, to prevent the kind of thing that happened to me on Mindoir. Did you know that the average slaver captures something like forty-five slaves in their career?" The number had Arterius' eyeplates raise slightly; that was a statistic he had never thought about before. "From the first-time snatch-and-grabs who bite a bullet from a militiaman at the get-go to some Batarian SIU operative who has it down to a science. I've killed just over forty-one thousand slavers, and I've captured an extra twenty-three thousand in my career. Potentially, I've saved 2.8 _million_ victims from ever having to know what it is like to be captured and kidnapped, to being dragged off onto a ship and sent to Hegemony Space or some Terminus hellhole. Each slaver I stop is eleven to fifteen families that will never be shattered and broken, never have to live with I what I had to live with. Could I do the same as a SPECTRE?"

"Well, yes." Saren answered, nodding his head. "While the Counsel does send SPECTREs off on missions as they arise, they do expect Agents to use the rest of their time in investigations and actions that would slip the normal net of intelligence-gathering and data-mining. In fact, a majority of our missions are from resulting patterns we discover, prisoners we've captured and interrogated, and intelligence that we've hacked and collected. Some SPECTREs are not too different than you; driving towards a specific goal. One Salarian specializes in biowarefare manufacturing and distribution. His story is not too different from yours, in fact. Another SPECTRE, this one an Asari, primarily hunts down some genetic defect of her race. I don't know the details of that one, and I don't think I wish to."

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence as Major Hale thought her options over, giving it serious consideration. Despite his personal feelings for Humans as a whole, Major Jennifer Hale was a warrior that he not only respected, but one he wouldn't mind working alongside. He knew that his general hatred for Humans stymied from the Relay 314 Incident, specifically his capture at the hands of Alliance forces, yet over the years, he had been forced to admit to himself that the Humans had acted with more honor than the Turian forces had during the Incident. He had blamed them for the death of his eldest brother, Desolas, yet nothing that had occurred involving Jack Harper, Eva Core, and Ben Haslop had been any of their doing; every action that Desolas Arterius had committed had been of his own volition… that and the strange artifact that he and Jack Harper had been forced to bury with explosives on Palaven. Had Jack not lost his best friend and the woman he loved as well? Yet the mercenary had spared Saren his life, something the Turian admitted now that he wouldn't have reciprocated had the roles been reversed.

Looking at the Human woman with the brown fringe-hair, mulling over the information she had recently discovered, the Counsel Agent admitted to himself that he would like to see Major Jennifer Hale as a SPECTRE. Not just because of her skills, which were impressive enough for most sentients to sit up and take notice, but also because of her thought processes. Hale wasn't a bloody-thirsty killer, some jumped-up thug, or some alien-hating racist. It was easy to tell by her reports and actions that a slaver to her knew no race, Human or otherwise, just as a slave was to be rescued regardless, no matter their race. He remembered reading that the attack on Mindoir, while led and populated by Hegemony forces, had hired mercenaries to bolster their numbers and collect their 'cargo'. There had been Asari, Turian, and Humans there on Mindoir, killing resistant colonists and capturing those they could take. Saren remembered what Fleet Master Jon Grissom had told the Board of Hale; that she had witnessed her family executed in front of her, that they had raped her, shot her, raped her again, and then shot her and left her for dead amidst the bodies of her mother, father, and brother.

What resolve must the woman possess to _not_ be something worse than what she was? Saren honestly wouldn't blame her if she started becoming a monster.

"I've… thought it over, Agent Arterius." The N7 Marine finally voice, looking up from the flooring of the Normandy, still leaning back on the railing of the conference room, her arms crossed over the rounded portion of her chest that Humans, Asari, and Quarians possessed. "I… really don't like the idea of that kind of unlimited authority and potential corruption. I look at scum like Mikael Dravonich, souped-up stone-cold killers with a legal reason to pull the trigger, and the thought of being like that scares the shit out of me. I've been in the Alliance since I was sixteen, and with its help, I've made a difference without having to become some reckless savage bent on destroying everything. Would I continue to do so if I were a SPECTRE? Not just today, but a year from now? Five? Ten? You take away those laws and rules, you take away that potential of reprimand and embarrassment, and what will become of me then? Most already think of me as some baby-eating psycho because of Torfan, and I won't lie when I say that hearing the reports and the rumors get to me at times. I just… I don't know if I could handle that responsibility of authority and discretion without reprisal."

"Honestly, that is the exact type of answer Nihlus gave when I mentored him." Saren informed the Human, surprising her. "And that is the type of answer we look for. That doubt? That fear? Keep it close and cherish it, because that is what will make you Turi… sorry, _Human_." The SPECTRE corrected himself ruefully, eliciting a small smile from the female Marine. "I have that same fear and doubt. So does Nihlus. So you are not alone with that, there are many SPECTREs who feel the same way. You will have _us_ there for you if you succeed as a candidate, men and women who have been in the same position as yourself, who share your concerns. We SPECTREs are our own guardians; we watch over each other. It is not publicized, but there have been Agents in the past that crossed that line, and it was us who had to take one of our brethren down. It is not a happy affair, but it is a necessary one. Thankfully, it does not happen often, as we have learned long ago what to look for in an Asari, in a Salarian, and in a Turian."

"What about a Human?" Hale asked pointedly.

"Why do you think we're so reluctant as to let you join?" The Turian replied, getting the Major to nod her head slowly. "We hardly understand you as a race or a species, and we generally see you as erratic and spontaneous. Admitting a Human SPECTRE means that we _trust_ you; a tall order. Many wonder why the Hanar are not a Counsel race, or the Elcor or Volus. It has nothing to do with the normal complaints of military strength, or political usefulness. What it has to do is their _motivations_ ; what do they wish for most? For the Hanar, most assume that it is the search for the Enkindlers, but if that were the case, why are there not more Hanar Protheanologists? For the Elcor, sadly, they are too pacifist as a species to make the necessary judgement calls necessary out of a Counsel species, though if you mess with one of their cows or calfs, do yourself a favor and shoot yourself. I've seen an enraged Elcor Bull literally tear a Krogan to pieces for stupidly shooting at his mate. The Volus, while the Hierarchy is grateful for them, we Turians spend almost as much time taming them as we do protecting them. The Volus are notorious for their predilections of earning money and gaining power, and are even more opportunistic than, well… your species, no offense."

"So what do you look for in a Counsel species?" Hale asked, and Saren saw she was genuinely interested in the conversation, listening with respect as oppose to greediness or intelligence-gathering.

"Obviously, one of the first things we look for is a species that will help protect and defend the cause of the greater good, regardless of planet or species." The Turian replied. "We as Turians sometimes forget that, having to deal with Separatists and having the Volus as a Client Race. With the willingness to defend, you also need the strength to do so; technology and numbers are the usual factors we look for. It is not just about protecting _your_ borders and interests, but _everyone's_ borders and interests. When Turians were discovered during the heat of the Krogan Rebellion, we earned our spot by staving off the advances the Krogan Warlords and Battlemasters were making, and sometimes even making progress. We earned ours through blood and sacrifice. While many Turians may not think Humans have done so, did you not fight for your own worlds against us? Did you not unify together under a common goal and cause to defend against a superior aggressor? Our Primarch made mention of this to our Counselor, and at first, I didn't agree with him. Yet I began to see your species in the same light as my own; we, too, had recently discovered that we weren't alone in the galaxy, and we went to war with it. I believe that most Turians will look at the thought of a Human SPECTRE and Humanity as a Counsel species as 'too fast, too soon'. I am _mostly_ in that camp myself, but… no Counsel species is without its mistakes, without its regrets. The Salarians opened the Relay that brought us the Rachni. The Asari were the ones who discovered the Krogan and pushed the idea forward to uplift them. We Turians had no issues delivering the Genophage to Tuchanka… as well as orbital bombardment of Shanxi just to take out Human guerrilla fighters because we were taking too many casualties. The Primach mentioned that Humanity _will_ make mistakes, as had we all. If we are to rely on Human watching Citadel Space, then why aren't we making them a Counsel race? That… had me thinking. The Elcor only patrol their planets, and the same is true with the Hanar. Yet there are four species that patrol and defend the bulk of Citadel Space; why aren't there four species that get to make decisions about it?"

"I… never really thought about it that way?" Hale admitted, slowly chewing on her lower mandible… lip. "I've heard it before, but never sat to consider it. A full sixty percent of our Fleets are tasked with Counsel patrols and defense, more so than the Turians." Saren grunted, but didn't correct her; the Treaty of Faraxi gave the Turians a much larger Fleet than the Humans, yet it was interesting that the _numbers_ were the same, meaning more of Humanity's ships were fleeced for Citadel defense. Something to look into. "I know that we can come off aggressive and sporadic to the other races, but the truth of the matter is that we're afraid." Hale shrugged her shoulders. "We came into the galaxy with a war for our very survival, and learned that we were so far behind everyone else, that we were damn near that the bottom of the ladder. We didn't have the ships, the population, the technology, the weaponry, the colonies, or the science for someone out there to stand up and take notice of us." Saren 'hmm'ed at the thought; an interesting perspective. "We were afraid that we were going to be made slaves, or like the Volus. We were afraid that you were going to be our Overlords, take away the colonies that you liked best, and leave us scraps. We thought your were going to force us to mine our resources, and then pay you for the privilege. It was a brand new galaxy out there, and we were frightened.

"We did what we do best; we winged it."

"You're telling me that Humanity's strength is by making it up as you go along?" Saren asked, incredulous.

"With the chair on our posteriors." Hale smiled, obviously teasing him for his earlier mistake for the Human euphemism. "Look at Human history, and that's where you'll find that we've always shined; when the chips were down. Look at us in peacetime, and it's same old, same old. Flip the war switch on, and we start writing blank checks on the dumbest ideas in existence to see which one works out best, and we'll throw every single one of them at you just to convince you we're absolutely the worst thing you'll ever want to mess with. Our species was responsible for using atomic weapons on our own home world during a war as the more humane thing to do, because the loss of life was significantly less than if we sent our soldiers. But it scared the shit out of the other guy. That was what Torfan was about; projecting fear into our enemy, and showing them that Krogan don't hold the monopoly on crushing their enemies." Saren stayed silent, and wondered if he was a little more uneasy with the thought of Humanity being a Counsel species now. Spirits… that was a _Turian_ tactic! And yet Humanity had done it without ships!

"I'll… I'll do it." Hale finally answered, looking to the SPECTRE, her brown eyes never wavering. "Not because I want to, not because Humanity wants it, but because we need a reason to be a little less afraid. If we can accomplish this, perhaps the Alliance will have a reason to do things right, to step up to the plate and represent themselves in a way we can be more proud of. If a Human can be a SPECTRE, I would want it to be the type of Human that will give our people hope, and our enemies a reason to back away. There's only a few I would trust to do that, and I wouldn't want to wish them upon any of them, honestly. I'd rather it be me; not because I want it, but because I know that I will do my damnedest to keep myself from going too far, to drive myself forward to being something people can inspire to. I don't care if I'm a hero or not, but I do care that people look to me and don't see a monster. That, I think, will keep me from being corrupt. Unlike Meer." The Marine sighed, standing up from the railing, and turned towards the Haptic display that still had the duty roster showing. Hale inputted several commands were she had put herself in as the ship's XO, as Captain Anderson had wanted, a position she was reluctant to take. "I just need to step up, but I'll need your help."

"You'll have it, Hale. No fear in that." Saren replied immediately, nodding his head. "I am glad that you came to accept this. Of all the potential candidates that I saw, you were the only one I thought worthy of it. You have yet to disappoint me, and your doubts only confirm my approval. We'll talk more on this later."

"Yeah. I need some gun time." The N7 laughed, rubbing at the back of her fringe-hair, looking nervous. "I'd like to see that gun of yours in action, SPECTRE. Think you can beat me in a scenario? Frigate's got a VI-ran battle simulation range down in the Quarter Deck, and my M-55 Argus might get up and cheat on me if I don't use it sometime today."

"You use a Turian battle rifle?" Saren asked, surprised. The Argus was a powerful three-shot weapon that was designed for Turians, and would be quite large in the hands of a Human. Its power was undeniable… as was its powerful recoil. He reminded himself that the woman in front of him was one of the top ten shooters in the Alliance Military, according to her records, and he didn't doubt that her decision on firing the Argus was taken lightly. "This I have to see. Nihlus will want to be there; he considers himself an expert shot."

"Oh boy, a threesome with two Turian men." Hale spouted sarcastically, a wicked smile on her horizontal mandibles. "My dreams have come true."

Saren couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

"Spirits! This should teach me that betting is best left on Quasar!"

Saren Arterius shook his head ruefully as Nihlus Kryik lowered his HMWP Series VII pistol, his partner's mandibles flared wide in admonishment at the score displayed. The Biotic Turian had ducked out of the competition after he lost three times in a row with pistols and assault rifles, and Nihlus had insisted on continuing, going into a five-gun competition match in which pistols, submachine guns, assault rifles, shotguns, and sniper rifles were used. After his fifth loss, the SPECTRE Commando had to admit defeat to a Human woman half his size and mass as Major Jennifer Hale lowered her own N7 Eagle pistol, holding back the slide bolt to dispense away the excess heat that was in the firearm's heat sink. Saren looked at the score, and he was rather impressed with it. Not only had Hale beaten Nihlus by points, but on time as well, having shot better and faster. The Counsel Agent knew that his partner was considered the best shot in Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, but that would quickly change if and when Hale was admitted. If the N7 Marine was half as good on the battlefield as she was on a range, no wonder she had an impressive amount of accolades, rescues and kills. Spirits, with her abilities, she probably tore through squads and platoons in no time! No wonder the Batarians couldn't ever defeat her. He doubted a Turian platoon would fare much better!

"Don't beat yourself up, Nihlus. You are a really, really damn good shot." Major Jennifer Hale told Saren's partner, either to cheer him up or let him down softly. "I got good because I spent all my free time in OCS and my first couple of years in the Alliance at ranges. I've probably got somewhere over an actual Solar Year in range time, practicing. I was bound to get good at it."

"Good? Good would have left after the first round in disappointment, and amazing would have shook his head and begged off a few iterations ago." Nihlus pointed out, looking at the score again. The scenario had been the most difficult one on the ship, and Saren actually knew of it; it was a hold-out battle in which a squad of Alliance forces were forced to bunker down in a spaceport against numerous Hierarchy forces with little cover and no reinforcements during the Battle of Shanxi. The whole point of the scenario was to fight a losing battle without giving into fear and panic, and Saren was surprised to see just how tough it was to fight against the Hierarchy; something a Turian would never think to do. The VI-driven scenario had two hundred holographic Turian soldiers that would come in at random times, random locations, using random weapons and tactics. Saren had been a part of the first round, and had been disappointed when he had been 'killed' within the first minute with only a dozen kills in his honor. Nihlus had done better, but had been killed a dozen or so seconds later, though his kill count was much more impressive. They had watched Major Jennifer Hale complete the ten minute scenario single-handedly, never having died during the scenario, and completing the mission by exterminating the enemy forces. Nihlus had been bound and determined to survive the hold-out mission, and had finally done so on his third pass. Still, it was easily clear who was the better of the two. Arterius still couldn't believe that Hale had doubled Kryik's amount of kills; he knew how good Nihlus was.

But watching Hale in action… Spirits!

"In your defense, I've played this scenario on its hardest setting until the VI wanted to call me a slave driver." The female Marine replied easily, neither boastful nor gloating. "Like I said, I've practiced it so much that I can do it without thinking."

"That wasn't the hardest setting?" Nihlus was boggled at the thought. So was Saren, truthfully. It seemed like almost every shot the enemy made was both extremely accurate and potentially lethal. How much harder could it get?

"Yeah… we have a Krogan setting." Hale rubbed at the back of her neck, embarrassed. "It's where they're all Krogan instead of Turians. We can switch it out to any species. For shits-and-giggles, turn it onto Volus and watch the poor little guys pop every time you shoot one." That had Nihlus roaring with laughter, and even Saren got a smile out of it. "The Elcor one is pretty hard, too. They may be slow, but they can soak up damage and usually carry rocket launchers and miniguns. They'd make some great heavy infantry in a war."

"Very true." Kryik admitted immediately. "About a hundred years ago, some Attican Warlords decided to kidnap and extort one of the Elcor colonies. Next thing anyone knew, there were about a thousand bulls in heavy armor with anti-ship weaponry on their backs, pounding away at mercenaries and pirates. Honestly, that was much like your Torfan; swift justice. No one's hit an Elcor settlement after that."

"Good for them." Hale replied with praise. "Sometimes I wish Humanity would show that resolve just a little bit more."

* * *

A/N: The holographic range is a small version of the one seen in the DLC _Pinnacle Station_. Yes, I know you don't see one on the _Normandy_ , but you didn't see the escape pods either that were utilized in the beginning of ME 2, either.


	8. Meer: Cargo Bay

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Meer, Cargo Bay**

SSV _Normandy,_ Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 20, 2183 0932 Arcturus

Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer was not in a good mood.

The Earth-born Alliance Officer stood in the SSV _Normandy's_ cargo deck, supervising the enlisted members who were still loading the frigate with supplies and equipment, several loading machines bringing in the stockpile of crates and boxes while sailors and Marines, stripped of their uniform blouse and sporting their CATsuit tops, were physically lifting the cargo from the loaders and carrying them to their respective locations. Lieutenant (j.g.) Dan Halley, the _Normandy's_ Quartermaster, was checking off each box as it came on on a datapad, and directing the handful of Marines and sailors who would be carrying it to its final destination, whatever department it was happening to be at. Like all details, the enlisted members grumbled and bitched about the nature of the detail good-naturedly, as all in service had done since the dawn of time. Meer was content with merely watching the work in progress, having no desire to add his efforts to the strenuous work.

He was still stewing over that cunt.

When Ambassador Donnel Udina had told him of the Normandy, and what was to be expected of him, Commander Meer knew that he couldn't have asked for a more perfect scenario. Working with Captain David Anderson, one of Humanity's Heroes, would look good for him, as well as any recommendation the Black Fox would undoubtedly give him. Being on board a prototype ship, the result of a Turian-Human joint effort, would look good as well; a special ship needed a special crew, after all. Meer knew most of the Officers of the _Normandy_ by reputation, having worked with some of them in past commissions and deployments. Some were worth his attention, but most were just job fillers who were there to keep the ship running while he took care of more important matters. When he had arrived at Dock 54B, Meer had fully expected to be named the _Normandy's_ XO; he would be receiving his silver oak leaf Commander rank on the first of the month, and being the XO of a frigate was right up his alley. He was, after all, a Navy man, and trained for such things. Being second-in-command of a top-of-the-line vessel would do well for him, especially under the command of Captain Anderson. All he had to do was focus on his candidacy for becoming a SPECTRE.

Then everything began to go wrong.

When Anderson had come off the ship and called out Hale's name to bring the first formation, Meer had felt his heart almost seize on him. Of course the N7's would stick with their own kind, despite the fact that the Black Fox was Navy and the cunt a Marine. When she had called the formation in, he had stood in the back, hoping that it would just an informal thing. When Captain Anderson had relieved the cunt at the front of the formation, she had walked back to where he stood, and gave him a smirk and a 'snick'ing noise of dismissal. Meer had no choice but to move forward towards the worthless Navy Civilian contractors, standing in line with those who didn't even have the guts to pretend that they were useful. The Lieutenant Commander stewed at that until they boarded the ship, where he assumed that the Black Fox would come to his senses, and name him the _Normandy's_ Executive Officer. Meer stood in the CIC, merely monitoring the obvious department heads moving to their positions of authorities while taking a roll call of their personnel. He watched as the cunt haunted the CIC, talking to each department head, making sure that everything was in order and that everyone had been accounted for before giving them permission to assign work stations and bunks. At any moment, Meer knew that Anderson would either come to the CIC and bring him in, or call out for him from the ship's intercom system. Let the cunt have her fun in the sun for a few minutes. In the end, he knew he would be where he deserved to be.

Hours passed, and he was stuck roaming the new frigate, unwanted and unbidden.

Meer couldn't understand it; why was he pushed onto the back burner? Maybe Anderson was just testing the cunt, seeing how she would handle the rigors of command, but had something special in mind for him. He was, after all, a SPECTRE candidate. Perhaps the Black Fox was giving Meer the opportunity to focus on that while Hale handled all the dirty work. He could believe that, except that the little cunt was a candidate, too. If that had been the case, Anderson would have had someone like Lieutenant Commander Pressley as the ship's XO. Then he thought perhaps the Captain was mixing things up, having Hale as the XO while Meer would be the Ground Engagement Commander and Security Officer; a role reversal. It wasn't a bad plan, and Meer liked the thought. It gave him some ground time, to prove that he had what it took, and for him to demonstrate what he already knew; that he was the best man for the job. It had been some time since he had been in a ground battle, and if he let too much time pass between such incidences, people were likely to forget why he was the best humanity had to offer. It wouldn't do well for him if someone attempted to outshine him. There were already too many Heroes running about, threatening to take the focus off of him, like the cunt. At least the bitch was out of the way, and good riddance to that goody two-shoe sycophant.

His mood was further deteriorated when he saw the cunt take the two Turian SPECTREs into the the ship's range, connected to its Quarter Deck.

 _Cunt got the better of me AGAIN!_ The Lieutenant Commander fumed internally, stalking the cargo bay while the enlisted sailors and Marines worked, leaving him on temporary babysitting duties. He had finally gotten his orders as _Normandy's_ Lead Navigator; a job best left to a Lieutenant Commander or a squared-away 1st Lieutenant. A full Commander, such as himself? It was a step in the wrong direction. It was the cunt's fault, of course, having taken the positions of Executive Officer, Security Officer, and Ground Engagement Commander for herself. How the hell had the cunt convinced the Black Fox to give herself the three top positions on a top-of-the-line frigate? Hell, one of them was a Navy position! And he was the second highest-ranking Navy Officer on the ship! Giving it to a _Marine?_ What the hell was Anderson thinking? And then he had watched the cunt lead the two Turians into the small holographic combat simulation range, undoubtedly about to shake her ass in front of the spikes. That had Meer scoff in disgust; did the cunt _not_ remember what species she was apart of? Off cavorting with _aliens_ , flirting with them like some whore?

Then it dawned on him.

 _That fucking cunt! That's exactly what she was doing!_

Meer had to hand it to her; beautifully played. While he moped around, wandering the ship, Hale was obviously looking out for whom she thought was number one; herself. While he bitched and moaned to himself about being railroaded on the positions he deserved, the cunt had taken the opportunity to give herself into the plus column by flirting with two _male_ Turians, obviously taking them someplace personal to give them a taste. Of course the cunt couldn't compete with him on the up-and-up, so she was going whore herself to be a SPECTRE. If it wasn't so disgusting, he would almost admire the genius of the plan. She had outplayed him once more, just like she had in OCS and N school, just like she had at the Board. How the hell was he suppose to complete with some Marine slut who whipped out her cunt at every promotional opportunity? Sure, he could convince the Turians with his performance, but if the cunt dazzled them by spreading her legs, she would be a surefire shoe-in into becoming Humanity's First SPECTRE. He couldn't let that happen; he wouldn't let that happen.

So he began to come up with a plan.

It was a simple one, but the simple plans were often the most effective ones; fewer moving parts meant fewer ways for things to go wrong. All he had to do was to accuse the cunt of sexual harassment! Meer almost laughed out loud at the thought, smiling as the plan began to clarify itself in his mind. All he had to do was to create a situation where the cunt compromised herself, or where at least there was no one else to vouch for her defense. It would be an epic move; just put her in a situation where it _looked_ like she gave off a suggestion of inappropriate behavior involving the promise of sex. He didn't even need to be the one who was harassed, in fact, it would probably work out better if it were one of the lower-ranking Officers or enlisted members. Someone young and impressionable, someone he could get to see things his way. Cunt couldn't be a SPECTRE if she were fighting off public accusations of sexual favoritism and extortion, now, could she? That would show the cunt what happened when she tried to fuck her way to the top.

Meer merely smiled, and strode forward to set his plan in motion.

"Here, Corporal, let me give you a hand with that." Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer told a young male Marine as he squatted down and put his fingers under the edge of a metal crate the Marine was trying to muscle up with limited success by himself. Together, the Lieutenant Commander and the Corporal lifted the crate that was destined for Engineering, the two of them walking down the cargo bay deck and towards Engineering.

"Thank you, sir!" The Corporal replied, looking at Meer, and then at the rank on his collar, and then the nametag on his uniform. "Oh my God! You're Commander Meer! The Hero of Akuze!" The Lieutenant Commander looked at the Corporal, seeing the word 'Jenkins, R.' stenciled onto his black CATsuit. Jenkins… that would be a start.

"That's correct, Corporal." Meer smiled a smile he had long since perfected, just a subtle raising of the corners of his lips. While he had a handsome face, it wasn't meant for smiling, so Meer had practiced smiling in front of a mirror until he found one that fit his looks best, and then practiced it until it came to him as second nature. It wasn't the only face he practiced; the frown, the scowl, the intent, all had their uses. Mark understood that authority extended from presence, and that people picked up cues of just how important a man was by his demeanor. Facial expressions were a big part of it, and the mask of disdain that he normally wore was one he had spent hours practicing on, to give credence to his stoic professionalism, and to project calm in a time of stress. Meer had studied Psychology, and what he took from it was that in a time of panic and need, it was often the most charismatic and the most in control of oneself that took lead. History was filled with such examples of men, and Meer knew that it was his destiny to be among them. So when he smiled at Corporal Jenkins, it wasn't the smile of a man who was happy to help.

The Spider was back to work once more, weaving his web.

"Oh man! My brother would kill to meet you! He'd be so jealous!" The Corporal gushed as they carried the crate that was in their hands into Engineering, seeing an Engineering Lieutenant directing them towards where he wanted the crate located. The Commander merely brushed the Engineer's presence with his eyes, a 1st Lieutenant Adams, almost completely absorbed with his datapad to pay attention to what was going on around him. "We both went to your USO rally show last year right before we signed up!" That had Meer's attention.

"Where was it at?" The Commander asked, his voice smooth, friendly, and interested. "I did seven of them last year. Wait! Let me guess. Tall, strong, tanned, and you sound like you were raised right and proper. Eden Prime or Elysium?"

"Eden Prime! How did you know?" The crate went to its specified location as Corporal Jenkins' mouth dropped open, surprise evident on his face.

 _Because I hold a Master's in Psychology_ , Mark thought to himself with a smile, giving the colony kid an encouraging grin. He, of course, didn't bother to mention that he had only been half-right with his guess, and that while he had done seven USO shows last year, that they had all been on Elysium or Eden Prime. All he had to do was to make Jenkins think that all seven had been on different colonies. Plus, it never hurt to let someone think that their own home colony was worth something; who honestly gave a shit about some grubber's backwater out in the black? Meer was born on Earth, where real humans were born and raised. In his mind, every other _homo sapien_ from out in the 'verse was practically a sub-species.

"Eden Prime! I had my best time in Eden Prime!" Meer continued, his tone jovial as he leaned against the crate he just sat down with Jenkins. "Such a pristine place; so clean and well-maintained. Not like Terra Nova or Benning, practically mining dives and shanty towns, in my opinion." The Spider kept up the charm, seeing the Corporals' face almost glowing.

"I know, right! I went to Benning for R+R, and that place is so polluted!" The Marine shook his head, obviously not understanding that Benning was a sub-tiered colony; the damn planet came choked with dust and violent wind storms. Despite the Alliance's best efforts, the colony remained almost an environmental hazard for those who visited or lived there. "Don't get me wrong, I love my home, but I joined 'cuz I wanted to get out there and _do_ something!"

"Of course! You are a man!" Meer stated the obvious, weaving his web. "Are we not the ones that protect our people? Our homes? Our families?" This was almost the same rhetoric speech he used in his USO show on Eden Prime, just enough of a change to make it sound like he wasn't exactly repeating himself. Sometimes, having a photographic memory like his was a blessing in disguise. It certain came useful in memorizing transmission codes and signal patterns whenever he needed to make contact. "Tell you what. Let's get a picture together! You can send it to your brother so you can rib him about it."

"You'd do that, Commander? That would be _awesome_!" Jenkins' jaw practically put a hole through the decking, it dropped so fast. Meer went in for the friendly buddy-hug routine that Marines and sailors seemed to do during photo-ops, giving off his 'goofy' grin that made him look more human, more like one of them, while supporting such frivolity with an equally pointless thumbs-up aimed at the capture device of Jenkins' Omni-Tool as the Corporal took a picture of them together. The colony kid immediately looked at the image on the small Haptic display of his Omni-tool, and Mark was satisfied with his pose; perfect. It made him look like… well, like a normal guy. He despised that he had to do it, but everyone else ate it up. It worked, why change up a good thing?

"Oh, man! I just sent it to my brother and posted it on my SpaceBook page, hanging out with Commander Meer!" The Marine declared, his Omni-tool chirping appropriately as Meer smiled, and took a friendly step back.

And the Spider continued to weave.

* * *

The day had wound down into evening, and Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer was on the bridge, settling into his role as Lead Navigator. What he had originally thought a step down from his extraordinary talents had become a blessing in disguise. True, being the ship's XO was infinitely more desirable, but Lead Navigator had access to as much information and communication protocols as the Executive Officer. He was essentially in charge of the CIC, being in command of the Navigation Department, the Watch Officers, Astronavigation, Electronic Countermeasures, Signals, and Infoware sections. What was truly a real treat, though, was that he was also in charge of monitoring ship activity, being the personnel that inhabited the _Normandy_. While the Security Officer was responsible for the Marines who stood guard aboard the ship, as well as being the Master-at-Arms and in charge of the ship's armory, it was he that was in charge of the many cameras and monitoring devices that were scattered throughout the ship. He could see almost all of the going-ons and happenings about the _Normandy_ ; who was working and who was slacking off, who did what with their downtime, and who put themselves in compromising situations.

It was the perfect blackmail setup.

It was obvious, really; monitor the crew, and any infraction he discovered, he could use to pull them in. With a ship filled with sailors and Marines, it was only a matter of time before someone went and did something dumb; nothing terrible, just an honest mistake. All he had to do was call them out on it, and offer them an incentive; to do as he asked or he would press charges. Start small, gather as many operatives as he needed, and then wait for the opportune moment to strike. He already had several vid files saved up for reference, like the several hour visit that the cunt had with the Turians in the holographic range. Of course the simulations were running, but there were no cameras inside the range. Who was to say what was going in inside such a secluded area? Just a few words from the right crew member, nothing damning, but it would get wheels turning and thoughts spinning. All it took were some words out of context, a situation seen in a different light, a friendly gesture described differently, and what would be an innocent encounter would look like fraternization or sexual harassment.

And Meer already had the perfect patsies in mind.

The Lieutenant Commander watched the security feed monitor, tempested so that only he could see the images without worries of anyone seeing through the Haptic display or looking over his shoulder by accident, watching the two that he had envisioned as the perfect targets. One was a PO3 by the name of Halverson, a chesty blonde bimbo sailor that looked to have the same IQ as her impressive tit size. Mark appreciated the curves of her figure, admiring the fact that while DSU's generally defeminized a woman's body, Halverson's voluptuousness was significant enough to heavily suggest that she was a bombshell underneath that Alliance Blue uniform. He pulled up the personnel file on Petty Officer, 3rd Class Sarah Halverson, and saw that this was only her second tour of duty, her first being on the Dreadnought SSV _Kilimanjaro_. A little blonde slut like that probably was fucking everything in sight, and a Dreadnought had plenty of space to do it in, as well as plenty of personnel to do it with. He didn't doubt that if he made a call or two, that he would find someone that had shoved their meat into that gash and were willing to spill the beans. If by some miracle the bimbo hadn't spread her legs open like a Fornax centerfold, well, didn't he have friends that could insert a few 'buried' complaints that never saw the light of day? Hell, wasn't the cunt's adopted mother the XO for the _Kilimanjaro_? Wouldn't that be rich; two birds at once! The Spider didn't doubt that it would only be a matter of time before the little trick would suck on a dick or pump a cock in her twat, and the rumors would spread as they always did. And then he would have his first victim.

The second one was talking to the whore as he watched, a recently promoted Lieutenant (junior grade) Kaidan Alenko.

Mark remembered the man, of course; the benefits of a photographic memory. He had been unimpressed with the L2 Biotic, some little boy from out of Vancouver who hadn't suffered the worst that the L2 implant could dish out. Not that he was a bad sailor, _per se_ ; did his duty, followed his orders, and was a closet perfectionist, to boot. But the kid was a stick-in-the-mud, completely forgettable in the scheme of things. No flair, no style, and certainly nothing to make him stand out and shine save that that almost out-of-regulation pompadour that he had. But the kid did have a few things working out for him; an easy-going manner, classic good looks, and a heart-melting smile and eyes that were aimed right at PO3 Halverson, the two of them chatting it up. Biology at work, Meer smiled as the obvious male drive to procreate with obvious stunning female was displayed on his monitor, the Lieutenant Commander recording it all.

The Spider smiled as Alenko touched the hand of Halverson in a way that was a little more than innocent, and he knew the web was complete, and just waiting for a fly.

* * *

A/N: I hadn't thought much of Mark Meer's character until this chapter, how I was going to make him the allied antagonist. Other than being a Tenth Street Red, not much else is known about that Origin. So I created a persona; the Spider. It seems perfect for an ego-maniac with delusions of grandeur and self-worth. I am definitely going to add onto this.

Oh yes, I can do evil. :)

I also mentioned that Meer has a photographic memory. But since he is also an egotistical asshole, this does not equate to 'perfect' memory. Like art, we see what we want to see, and so a photographic memory is always bent towards the users' own preconceptions.


	9. Anderson: Memories

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Anderson, Memories**

SSV _Normandy,_ Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 23, 2183 1019 Arcturus

Captain David Edward Anderson sat in the chair of his ready room, which was really his quarters when he hit a button to activate his wall-mounted bed, sitting in front of his terminal as he finalized preparations for take-off with the _Normandy_. He looked at the monthly budget that the Alliance Board of Fiscal Allotment had given to him to run his ship, and the N7 gave a snort at the sight; just enough for fuel, rations, and normal maintenance for average patrols in Alliance Space. Dear God if they actually got into a shooting match with someone and were forced to use one of their disruptor torpedoes, or something in a prototype, state-of-the-art vessel decided to brake down because some desk-riding engineer forgot to install the proper coolant pumps in the engine compartment. Thankfully, the 'Counsel Observers' had brought their own rations and equipment, so he wouldn't need to buy anything from the budget. Someone should really tell all the Lieutenant Commanders and Commanders that being the Captain of a ship was really just being an overpaid administrative clerk. Most of his time would be answering orders and messages from Command, authorizing repairs that they could afford, and explaining to some Admiral why he, Captain Anderson, the CO of the most advanced warship in the Alliance, could or could not be used in a thousand different idiotic ways.

Thank God he brought his Bacardi's.

After clearing most of his databox of retarded messages that were cc'ed to everyone Captain-ranked and above for updates and safety-related issues that seemed to fill up forty percent of his junk mail, he saw a message from someone... he hadn't expected to contact him. Especially over AllianceNet. This promised to be an interesting conversation. Ignoring the 'priority' message from some dingleberry military civilian in the Department of the Navy requesting attendance, he clicked on the message and hit the respond button, surprised to see that it was for vid, not a message. After about twenty seconds of loading, AllianceSkype connected to the person who had contacted him.

Captain Hannah Shepard, XO of the SSV _Kilimanjaro_.

 _"David. That was a quick response."_ Hannah's face appeared to him from his terminal, and Anderson could tell that she was using her Omnitool to talk to him. She looked like she was in the bunk of her quarters, by the way she was lying down. He checked the Zulu time for Captain Shepard... shit, it was 2221 for her. Probably her sleep cycle.

"Hannah, it's good to see you. It's... been a long time." He couldn't hide the tiredness of his voice, the grief that he always lived with, have been living with for too long. Seeing Hannah, her greying red hair, the green eyes... damn. Memories rushed, and he helped himself to some rum, rules be damned. This sight of him openly drinking had Captain Shepard's eyebrow go up in amusement, but she said nothing. She didn't need an explanation, nor did she bring it up. She knew.

 _"Heard you got Jen under your command now, souped-up little sports Frigate stuffed with all sorts."_ Hannah chatted, and it was almost the good old days again. No matter how painful that memory was, it was better than the hollowness of regret.

"Went and made her my XO." Anderson confirmed with a smile, taking another sip of rum. "Meer's probably about to tear what little hair he has out of frustration, but I've never trusted the man. Great Navy man, just... lousy human being. I'd rather take a chance with Hale. She's smart, capable, and her test scores show that she's got a good deal of the basics down."

 _"That's... well, that is good."_ Shepard replied, obviously surprised. _"When Grissom gave her word about the Board and needing an O-6 sponsor, she came immediately to me. Neither one of us knew what she was signing up for, but the moment I saw those Turians... I knew. If... if Jannie were still alive, still around, she would have been there, too, with you as her sponsor."_

"I know." The N7 replied, closing his eyes, remembering Commander Jane Shepard. "God, I miss her. I heard Hale still looks for her. I... I've all but given up hope after all these years."

 _"I have too. Told Jen differently because she needs that hope, and I don't want to be the one to break what's left of her heart. Poor girl's been through enough."_ Shepard sighed, blinking away tears. _"She's all that I got left, David. I know the Alliance just approved of her going to be a SPECTRE candidate and all, but if it's not too much trouble..."_

"I'll look after her, no worries." David replied with a weak smile, remembering. "I... I promised Jannie that I would if something ever happened to her. Knowing what I know about Mindoir and Torfan, I'm surprised she's held it together so well. You should be proud, Hannah. You raised _two_ great women. Damn if I can think of anyone else might have done that."

 _"I know, but thinking of her going to the SPECTREs just feels like we're tossing her to the wolves."_ Hannah shook her head. _"Not that she can't handle it, she just..._ we _can't_ _protect her."_ That had David sighing. There was that, sadly. No one was going to talk about _that_ elephant, though.

"I can and I will. If only as her Commanding Officer and as her friend. That will have to be enough." Anderson replied, the seriousness of his voice afirming his decision. "Humanity's First SPECTRE needs family, not _friends_." The comms were unsecured, so he had to watch what he was saying. "I'll see about getting a few of the N's, perhaps a couple of her old crew. We got the Typhoon on board, who was her first Platoon Sergeant. Couldn't ask for a finer mentor, nor someone else you'd rather have standing at your side when the chips are down. Who was her N Team? Do you know?"

 _"Hmm... Mason? Also someone she called Val."_ David knew everyone who had passed the N3 course, and knew those names; Commander Royce Mason and Senior Petty Officer Stacy Valentino. They would have been Hale's trainers when she graduated N3 course, preparing her for a life of SpecOps as well as preparing her for additional training and the later N courses. _"I think there was a Lewellyn on her team, and some Latino woman named Vasquez that was a part of that disaster on LV-426."_ He knew those names as well, Petty Officer First Class Rhys Lewellyn and Sergeant Jeanette 'Adios' Vasquez. That would be NCT-28. _"Thinking of plussing her up with an N team if she becomes a SPECTRE?"_

"She'll need it. Politics will kill someone faster than a bullet, and from what I gather, there will be a political shitstorm just waiting for Humanity's First SPECTRE." Anderson answered, sighing. "She'll need people _she_ can trust, not people who are said to be trust-worthy. We know the difference."

 _"All too well, David. All too well."_ Hannah looked older than her fifty-three years for a moment, someone that had seen too much and looked back and wondered if it had all been worth it. Just like he did. Some days, the answer was yes. Only some days, though. _"Please, be someone she can trust and confide in, David. If what I know of the job is true, she's going to need support; the kind of support that none of us know about, really. She's going to be like Grissom, or Ahern, or you; the first of her kind. Not that I doubt Jon Grissom wouldn't suspend_ everything _just to talk to her, but you'll be more accessible, more... human. She needs something like a father figure, David, and that's something she hasn't had in a very long time."_

"I'll be whatever she needs me to be, whatever she wants me to do."

 _"Then earn her trust. Tell her... about you and Jannie._ " That surprised David; did Jen not know? _"Jennifer's got some... intimacy issues when it comes to men, and Jannie never talked about her relationships with her sister. She always felt... bad about it."_ God, David guessed he shouldn't be surprised, considering what he had heard about Mindoir from Jane Shepard. Surviving what she had... it wouldn't be a surprise that a victim of that much trauma would have issues. He didn't ask what they were; he could guess, but it wasn't his place. _"Jen needs to heal, David, and Jannie was the only one who was good with that. Four years without the person she trusted most, and I don't know how well Jennifer is really doing. Just... talk to her. Open up to her. Don't be afraid to tell her things that isn't considered polite in conversations or make people embarrassed. Jen's always been a straight-shooter, and she appreciates honesty and the difficulty of opening up to another person. She tough on the exterior, but if I know her, she's got a world of guilt riding on her shoulders on the inside. Anything that will get her to help shoulder that burden. That's what my daughter needs, David."_

"That will be no problem at all." David assured her, and he meant it. For all he was, the oaths and promises he made, the struggles he had undergone, he knew that this would truly be the defining point in his life. _When Humanity's First SPECTRE steps onto the galactic stage, they will not count the people who stood in her way, but those who stood at her side._ Anderson poured himself a little bit more rum, and finished it quickly. "I'll talk to her, Hannah. I think... I think I'll forgo attending my weekly Services for the time being. Spend it where it matters more." That had Hannah's eyes go wide, but she nodded slowly.

 _"Next time I go to Church, I'll be sure to let the Minister know. He'll understand, I think."_ Captain Shepard replied. _"God go forth with you, David."_

"And may He bring peace to us all, Hannah." Anderson replied, their usual salutation. "I'll keep you abreast."

 _"Thank you."_

* * *

A/N: So... I served ten years in the Army, and I could barely tell you what any of my Captains did on a day-to-day basis. Answering E-mails, timetables, answering more e-mails, making powerpoint slides, answering even more e-mails, foisting work onto the XO and Lieutenants, and scheduling meetings that seemed to go on forever. If any Commissioned Officers of any of the Services would like to break the stigma of what you actually do in garrison on a day-to-day basis that isn't full of shit, I'm all ears. Now go do a PowerPoint slide for the next meeting, JAFO.

I don't miss my military e-mail account. Filled with worthless, petty, bickering bullshit. All you Cold Warriors out there that missed out on the Electronic Age in the military? Count yourself fortunate. Internet just made micromanaging so much easier. And Powerpoint reduced intelligence to about a negative factor. I dread to think how bad it is in top-level places, like the Pentagon. Probably neck-deep in idiocy chain-mails about safety issues, meetings cc'ed to everyone in a uniform, and crap about DFAS getting hacked again for the eighteenth time this year saying how they managed to lose all your information... again! (I wish I was making this stuff up)

Captain Royce Mason and Senior Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, once again, will be made of use in the Hale/Meer Chronicles, two OC's that come originally from the Battle of Menae/Tuchanka Series, as well as my Mass Effect vs. Aliens/Valkyrieverse Series. Petty Officer First Class Rhys Lewellyn was an honorable mention in the Valkyrieverse that will get face time.

Sergeant Jeanette 'Adios' Vasquez is PFC Vasquez from the movie _Aliens_ , as well as my Valkyrieverse series. There will be changes to the incident on LV-426, _not_ involving everyones' favorite face-fucking alien, the Xenomorph. I haven't figured out what LV-426 will be, save that Vasquez will probably be the sole military survivor and probably one out of three or four who walk out of a shitstorm scenario.


	10. Hale: Orders

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Hale, Orders**

SSV _Normandy_ , Arcturus Stream, March 23, 2183, 1114 Zulu

"Orders received, Commander."

Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Pressley's announcement had lifted Major Jennifer Hale's attention from her activities; going through the plethora of military e-mails and messages through her AllianceNet account. Since becoming XO, Security Officer, and Ground Engagement Officer for the _Normandy,_ she was now the head of distribution for every department aboard the Ohio-Class Frigate, while also being CC'ed with the Captain's messages as well. It would have been a daunting task for her to go through all the messages while executing her duties, but thankfully, as an Executive Officer, she rated both a yeoman and a Bosun's Mate.

Having a personal secretary was a new thing to her, and at first, Hale didn't like it. That lasted all of about thirty minutes though, when she tried clearing all her e-mails and messages, and found that they had tripled during that time. Petty Officer, 3rd Class Halverson was rated a YN3, a third class Yeoman, whose last tour of duty was no less than on her adopted mother's Dreadnought, the SSV _Kilimanjaro_. She had ended up serving as the Correspondence Officer, as well as the Receiving Officer. Being the Yeoman for an Executive Officer was a big step up for her, and the Major had a good chat with the Petty Officer, feeling her out to see if she was up to the task. In all honesty, Jen had no idea what a good yeoman looked liked or acted, but Halverson was thrilled at the opportunity, and practically gushed at the thought of a jump in job description. If she did well (by impressing Hale), then it was a surefire way for her to get a promotion. PO3 Halverson wasted no time attending to her duties at her new station at the CIC, forwarding important messages to Hale's Omni-tool and dredging through the crap e-mails that generally amounted to a waste of time.

Then there was the position of Bosun's Mate; yet another Navy position that Hale never really had to deal with before. True, she knew what a _boatswain_ did; they were in charge of a ships' maintenance in everything save for Engineering. If a vessel needed a new coat of paint? Talk to the boatswain. Lights were flickering? Boastwain. A super slow elevator? Let the boatswain know so he can tell you to bitch at the manufacturer. Hale had found an able rated Bosum's Mate in CPO Michael Valley. A no-nonsense NCO whose face oozed practicality, a glance at his Enlisted Record Brief showed that the man had an almost off the chart mechanical score, had attended several maintenance schools, and had nothing but glowing recommendations from previous commands. Being a Frigate's Chief Bosun's Mate was a good step for him, and the Chief accepted it readily enough. She gave him exactly one order; be an asshole to the department heads until he felt that whatever job that needed to be done was done to his satisfaction. Responsible for more than just ship maintenance, the Bosum's Mate was also responsible in making sure that everything was in working order. A glitchy Haptic display unit could mean the difference between life and death in space, and the Bosum's Mate made sure that all personnel and department heads took such matters seriously. A Chief Bosum's Mate might grumble that you came to them when the toilet paper ran out, but they would rip your head off if you didn't mention that a hydro-pump recycling valve was dripping water.

Three days as an XO, and Hale wasn't sure if she wanted to invest in cloning so there could be _two_ of her.

"Thank you, Mr. Pressley." Hale looked to her Omnitool, seeing that PO3 Halverson had already forwarded the e-mail to her Omnitool; damn the girl was good. It was strange for her to hear the title 'Commander' attached to her name. The Navy had its rules, which usually had many a Jarhead scratching their head in confusion. Go on the ground and your platoon sergeant gets waxed early on? The Staff Sergeant whose next in the Chain-of-Command is still a Staff Sergeant. A Sailor wins the duty lottery and gets into a position that's a pay-grade above his? He gets frocked with that rank, and gets the pay, too. While Major Jennifer Hale was still just a Major in the Marines, she was now also a frocked Commander in the Navy… and was getting the bigger paycheck to prove it. It was heady stuff for her. She never dreamed that she would be in a command position of a vessel; Security Officer and Ground Engagement Commander was a Marine position that sat in the meetings, but didn't rank the position. A ground-pounder like her with a permanent Marine rank and frocked Navy rank, serving in a command position? The last person to have done that was Admiral Tadius Ahern, Commandant of Pinnacle Station, and supposedly the next man up to being Fleet Master if Grissom ever stepped down. The thought wasn't exactly a comforting one to her; she had taken Command Training courses on the AllianceNet, but there was a big difference between completing some assignments and actually being in charge. Hale moved to to the command counsel of the CIC, where the Captain would give orders pertaining to the ship, its crew, its movements, and as well as addressing. It was the last function that she was interested in, selecting the ship's intercom system to address the crew of the _Normandy_. Clearing her throat first, Major Hale opened up the intercom, and spoke her first official orders throughout the ship.

"ALL HEAR THIS, ALL HEAR THIS, ALL HEAR THIS." The N7 Marine spoke, working to keep her voice clear, even, and dispassionate. The first three words indicated to the crew that it pertained to everyone, and that there was no immediate threat. "ORDERS RECEIVED BY ALLIANCE COMMAND. FRIGATE SSV NORMANDY TO LEAVE ARCTURUS BERTH AT 1200 HOURS, 23 MARCH, FOR A TEST RUN TO PINNACLE COMMAND STATION." Hale shut off the ship-wide communicator, pressed a few buttons on the command console, and input the intercom for the _Normandy's_ pilot, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau.

"Lieutenant? Orders are as standing; as soon as we debark from Arcturus Station, spool up the ship at a 10% increase of velocity for every five minutes so that we can monitor any ship cavatations and vibrations until we hit light speed." Hale read off the orders that had been forward to her from Captain Anderson. "We'll travel from Arcturus Stream to the Exodus Cluster and monitor any discharges and system compromises when we translate through the Mass Relay. Once we reach the Utopia System, we're to discharge at Zion, refuel, and then we'll travel and translate to the Pax System in the Horse Head Nebula and travel to Noveria for discharge, and then make our way to the Phoenix System of the Argos Rho Cluster. I believe Sylsalto is the gas giant there we will need to discharge at before we can dock with Pinnacle Station." Hale tried to wrack her brain for the the blue-green gas giant that was too close for a standard gas giant to its sun, Phoenix. She had never worked in Navigation, so she didn't know the usual stops and names of locations that a typical Navy XO would, since a stint in Navigation before taking a command position was the norm. The N7 Marine discretely looked it up on her work station, and found that Sylsalto was indeed the gas giant's name. "During our translation in the Exodus Cluster and the Horse Head Nebula, we shall push the ship's acceleration to its top speed and monitor the ship's systems. Navigation?"

"Yes, Commander?" Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer replied, his tone frigid as he stood to one side of the CIC, working at his terminal. Standing at the _Normandy's_ Helm meant that she could look down at everyone practically at once. Her brown eyes found Meer to be looking at her with a blank face, yet stormy blue eyes. It was easy to tell he loathed his current position, and hers. Too bad.

There was one additional benefit to it, too.

" _Mr. Meer_ , please plot the course for the most fuel efficiency possible." Hale informed her now-subordinate. "We'll be putting the ship through its paces. Let's see what type of mileage she can get."

"Yes, Commander." The Major held back a chuckle as Meer grimaced, obviously pissed about being called ' _mister_ '. It was a Navy tradition that, no matter what, there was only one Captain on a ship. If another Captain happened to be present, whether traveling, visiting, doing inspections, or in preparation of relief of command, he would be addressed as 'Mister' to distinguish him from the actual Captain of the vessel. The same was true of the XO; there was only to be one Commander, and that was the ship's Executive Officer. Any other Commander in rank would be known as 'Mister' as well, though if they were a Lieutenant Commander, Hale could simply call them their full rank or just 'LC'. But for Meer's case, she'd play by the rules. Mister it was.

A few minutes later, the course plot had been updated on her terminal, and Major Hale looked at the work, reviewing it with an inexperienced eye. She knew that flying in straight lines in space was virtually next to impossible; asteroids and debris fields were a danger in FTL travel. She saw the the Normandy's projected plot was a slight curve through the Arcturus Stream, avoiding planets whose revolutions around their suns would cause too much of a change in trajectory, as well as avoiding established asteroids, meteors, and space debris. Hale knew that plotting courses took time and mathematics that were well over her head, so she forwarded the plot to Lieutenant Commander Pressley for his expertise. The Major respected his knowledge and expertise on such matters, and asked him to discretely review the plot. Thankfully, it came back a moment or so later with no corrections and a comment by the LC, stating that if Jen even needed an extra pair of eyes, he'd be more than happy to help. The thought and the offer comforted her as she forwarded the plot to Lieutenant Moreau. It was still only 1124 Zulu, a good thirty minutes before the pilot would begin the disengage sequence from Arcturus Station.

A glance to her left showed the Turian SPECTRE Saren Arterius standing in the corner, monitoring all silently.

Jen wasn't too thrilled with the thought of two Counsel Agents aboard the _Normandy_ ; the sight of them spooked the crew. While only Captain Anderson, Meer and herself knew that they were SPECTREs, any human seeing a Turian on an Alliance ship immediately grew suspicious of what was truly going on. There was no way they could claim that they were giving the Turians a ride, and they couldn't tell the crew the purpose of the Agents, either. The current story that Captain Anderson had relayed to the department heads was that the SPECTREs were Counsel Observers who were merely there for the purpose of monitoring the state-of-the-art hybrid Frigate. Hale didn't doubt that anyone actually bought that piece of fiction; one glance at either Turian showed them to be warriors, not engineers or naval designers. The fact that they wore heavy combat armor was a good indication. That their weapons weren't readily identifiable was another clue. As the ship's Security Officer, it was her responsibility to secure all firearms save for that of the Security team, yet the Turians were festooned with high-grade weaponry. Even if the crew wasn't told that the Turians were SPECTREs, it took the rumor mill approximately three-and-a-half seconds to figure it out.

The damn SPECTREs should have just stayed in the damn Kodiak if they wanted discretion.

Hale watched the going-ons of the bridge from her position at the Helm, watching as Alliance men and women worked at their stations diligently, while Marines stood by a door, armed with Storm shotguns in case someone was dumb enough to board the Frigate. Jen had never heard of a military vessel being boarded outside of war, but she knew that the Alliance, the Hierarchy, the Republic, and the Union all had security teams on their military vessels. The N7 Marine didn't doubt that the Quarians probably did, too. She had a hard time picturing the Volus standing on duty, though; poor little guys would literally explode in a firefight. Her eyes went back to Saren, who stood there as silent as the grave, his arms across his chest, merely content to watch it all. Perhaps he had never been on an Alliance vessel, and was merely comparing them to the Hierarchy.

Though she wasn't necessarily a racist, Major Hale wasn't too sure if she was completely comfortable with that.

" _Commander Hale? Meet me in my ready room as soon as the course has been plotted._ " Came the voice of Captain David Edward Anderson over the Helm's personal intercom, his tone nether worried or frantic. Probably last minute instructions.

"Aye aye, Skipper." Hale replied. "Will be there in five." Shutting off the Helm's many displays, she looked over to Chief Valley, who was doing his duty; stalking the Bridge, his eyes scrutinizing everyone as he made sure that everyone was staying on task, and that everything worked as smoothly as advertised. The man was a pitbull, as the job required, and he filled it beautifully. Hale gave the CPO a nod as she turned to Lieutenant Commander Pressley, the First Watch Officer for the frigate. "Watch Officer? You have the Helm."

"Aye aye, Commander." Pressley responded, saluting her from his station as Hale stepped away from the Helm, waiting a moment to see that Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Pressley had indeed taken it over. Not that she didn't trust him; quite the opposite! No, what she wanted to see what what he would do when the ship was so close to launch. The man opened up the work station, and she was happy to note that the older man was merely monitoring ship systems, going through the read-outs and annotations of the Haptically-displayed instrumentation of the Frigate. That had been what Jen was doing, and she was glad that she was at least doing the right thing. She was never quite sure from time-to-time, and she was afraid to ask anyone, especially that dreaded question; ' _what should I be doing now?_ ' God, if Meer ever found that out…

Hale turned about and walked towards the circular staircase, an on-duty Marine Private by the name of Combs standing by the access door, holding the shotgun he was armed with at 'ready-arms'; the weapon held diagonally at his chest, barrel up, and ready to fire if someone didn't remind themselves quickly that the Security Team had the right to detain anyone at anytime in the name of the ship and the crew's safety. The Marine quickly maneuvered his shotgun to 'present arms', saluting her with his weapon by holding it vertically straight from his chest, the barrel pointing straight upward at the ceiling. Major Hale returned the salute, albeit with her right hand since she was unarmed. She dropped the salute quickly, and Private Combs returned the shotgun to its ready-arms position.

"What is your second General Order, Marine?"

"To walk my post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing, Major." Combs replied automatically, his tone hardened, probably to impress her.

"Hoo-rah. Carry on." Hale smiled as she pulled at her access card clipped to her uniform's belt, lanyard with a retractable fob, and slid the card through the door's reader, as Private Combs watched on. The screen by the station beeped as it displayed her Department of the Navy photo, registering that her biometric scan matched the one on file for the ship, and the door slid open to reveal another Marine Private on post, Private Vasquez having acknowledged her access and cleared her for entry. Major Hale saluted Private Vasquez as she walked by when he saluted her, and Jen took the circular staircase down to the ships' Quarter Deck. After stepping off the staircase, she encountered another Marine, one Private Fredricks, whom saluted her with his shotgun. Hale returned the salute, and gave him a question.

"What is your sixth General Order, Marine?"

"To receive, obey and pass on to the sentry who relieves me all orders from the commanding officer, officer of the day, and officers and noncommissioned officers of the guard only, Major." Private Fredricks responded with a snap, the response automatic. Hale had noticed that since she had been frocked with a Navy Rank, all of the Marines had been addressing her a 'Major' as oppose to just 'Ma'am', which was considered more proper. Jen saw Master Sergeant Maldonado's hand in this; evidently, the Typhoon of Eden Prime didn't want the new Commander to let her new rank get to her head, and had all the Marines address her by her rank with the Corps. Jen would have to do something nice for the Master Sergeant in return. It was nice to know her Marines still cared.

The Major walked through the access door after being verified by the Marine sentry on the opposite side of it, walking onto the Quarter Deck of the _Normandy_ , finding herself in between the two separate crew quarters and in front of the elevator that would give her access to the Engineering Deck and Cargo Bay. Hale steered clear of the elevator and walked into the _Normandy's_ mess hall, where those who weren't on shift were sitting at the tables, eating, playing cards, conversing with one another, watching videos or listening to music on their Omnitools, or just relaxing. As the _Normandy_ was a two-shift ship, each crew member had a twelve-hour rotation for on- and off-duty. While those who were on the day shift were at work, those who were off were confined to the Quarter Deck, essentially left up to their own devices. The Non-Commissioned Officers who were off were expected to make sure that no one did anything stupid, and of course the Marines would visit the holographic range for a little trigger time, as well as their daily PT since the range could double as a Haptic weight room using Mass Effect fields to simulate weight for the many selectable machines. The mix of Sailors and Marines was friendly enough based on the good-natured cat-calling and insults that were coming from the three tables, the sailors and Marines intermixed. That was always a good sign, as Hale had served on a few ships where tensions between Navymen and members of the Corps had led towards more than a few fistfights. Thankfully, nothing like that seemed to be an issue yet with the crew.

Hale walked over to the Captain's Quarters, and hit the signal button by the door, where she could hear a chime on the other side of the door ding to notify that someone was requesting the Captain's presence. The door slid open a moment later, and she found Captain David Anderson sitting at his personal desk, working at his workstation dressed in his uniform pants and CATsuit, his regulation blouse hanging off the back of his chair.

"Come in, Commander, let me finish up this report." The Black Fox told her without looking from his work, his sausage-like fingers flying on the Haptic keyboard of his terminal. Jen let herself in, the door sliding shut behind her as the N7 Marine looked at her sister's mentor as he grunted at something on the screen, his stony face grimacing at something as he made an obvious correction. "Damn military budgets." The Captain sighed as he sat back and rubbed at his eyes with one hand while the other went to a desk drawer of his workstation, pulling out the drawer to reveal a plastic bottle of what appeared to be some high-end rum. Anderson pulled out two disposable paper cups and set them on his station, pouring a finger's worth of rum each before twisting the cap back on. His head gestured to the only other chair in the Captain's Quarter's, sitting by his desk, and Jen took a load off, sitting in the seat and taking the proffered cup of rum, taking a sip when Anderson had.

"Ah… Captain's prerogative. Navy would fall to pieces if they didn't give us a little bit of time to sit back and enjoy some of the finer things in life." Anderson sighed, taking another sip of his rum. "From what I understand, you're a scotch woman through-and-through. That's a drink a real warrior can appreciate."

"Yes, sir." Hale replied, at a loss of any other answer. She wasn't sure what Anderson was doing, or why she was here. Here she was, in the Captain's Quarters, having alcohol during her duty hours. What was going on?

"I… need to tell you some things, Jennifer." The Captain began reluctantly, looking at the bottle still on the table, and sighing. "Things I've should have told you a few years ago."

"This is about Jannie, isn't it?"

"Yes… and a lot more." Anderson admitted, frowning. "I remember the first time working with your sister; a finer sailor I had never met. Shepard was brilliant, and an expert at anything she wished to be. She was just a J.G. when she was assigned to the _Hastings_ , my first command. This was… back in '76. She had been promoted due to her graduating salutatorian in Annapolis, and it was her first assignment. I took one look at her ORB, and I knew I was looking at something special. I had her in rotation for ground command, and after a few patrols and scenarios, I knew I had her right; she was both a warrior and a leader. As soon as she was promoted to 1st Lieutenant, I sent in her papers for the N course."

"Hmm." Jen grunted an acknowledgement, knowing most of this already. Jannie had told her all this before, back when they had been talking. Back before she had disappeared.

"I had never sponsored anyone else to the Villa; never found anyone worthy of it, in my mind." Anderson continued, obviously lost down memory lane. "Until I met Shepard. Watching her earn the black stripe, graduating top of her course, made me proud. I never thought I'd see the day when I would…" The Black Fox went silent, his reminiscing trailing off. What was he talking about, Hale wondered. It almost sounded as if… as if…

 _Oh… shit._

"You loved her."

"I did." The Captain admitted readily enough, and there was no doubt in his tone as his eyes returned to hers, looking at her with conviction. "I loved your sister, Jennifer, and thank God it was a two-way street in that regard. When she got her N7, promoted to Lieutenant Commander, I… proposed to her."

"I didn't know that." Jen admitted softly, shaking her head. "We didn't really talk to one another after… Torfan." The daughter of Mindoir looked at her empty cup, and regretted that she really shouldn't have any more; she was on-duty, after all. "I remember Elysium, getting some emergency R+R while she recovered from the attack. She was shacked up in a hospital with enough machines keeping her alive to almost categorize her as Geth." That had Anderson snort. "Sight broke my heart, but she was so… _happy_. Happy to have defended humanity in a way no one else ever really had. She didn't care for the Star of Terra or being called the Lion of Elysium. All she really cared about… was…"

"Was preventing another Mindoir. She told me." Anderson smiled, though there was little joy in it. "She told me of your time on the _Einstein_ , her helping you cope, being there for you. She didn't get into details, but I knew that she had almost the same drive that you did, and for almost the same reason. That was what attracted me to her, Jennifer; that passion, that commitment. I never thought I'd ever meet her like ever again." The Captain looked down at the floor remorsefully, obviously still hurting after all these years, just like she was. "God, I miss her so bad."

"I do, too." Jen replied, shaking her head. "I refuse to believe her dead, but… four years without a word? I just fear that she was on her ship when it had an emergency, and crash landed on some shithole of a planet with no way of making it spaceside. That thought scares me more than finding out she might have been killed in action." Anderson replied by taking the bottle of rum and pouring more into each of the cups. "Our last conversation together… wasn't very pleasant. We both said regrettable things. Things… things I wished I had never said." Jen had to slam her eyes shut and squeeze them tight to keep the growing tears from escaping. She thought about that day four years ago every night, the last time she saw her best friend and adopted sister, the day Jane Shepard lost her respect for Jennifer Hale. "I just want the chance to tell her I'm sorry, to make up for what I said."

"I know. She told me about it." Anderson smiled sadly, taking another sip of rum. "This wasn't your fault, Jennifer. You didn't drive her away. I know that she regretted what she said to you too, but she didn't know how to go back and tell you that herself. She… Shepard told me she didn't deserve your forgiveness."

"That's bullshit and we both know it." Jen gave off a chocking laugh, trying to mask her sobs. "Now I'm here where _she_ should be, doing what _she_ should be doing. A fucking SPECTRE Candidate? XO to a frigate? A fully-frocked Commander? What the hell am I doing, Anderson? I don't belong here! I don't deserve to be here! I'm not Jane Shepard, I'm just some dirt-grubbing colony kid with a huge monkey on her back, still trying to figure out how to make it through the day."

"I know, and that's why I chose you." The Captain replied calmly, looking at her seriously. "You are every bit as good as your sister, though she was a natural while as you had to work for it. Yet you graduated valedictorian of your Class, as well as getting the black stripe in your N course. The things you've accomplished are amazing, Jennifer; do _not_ doubt yourself. You may not be _like_ Shepard, but you are in the same category as her. And I would be remissed if I didn't keep an eye out for you, it's what she _asked_ me to do if anything were to happen to her. Of course, you got Old Man Grissom practically singing your hosannas…"

"Still think he was off his rocker for recommending me for this." Jen snorted, shaking her head and taking a sip of the gin. "Am I really the kind of person you want protecting the galaxy?"

"Jennifer, you're the _only_ kind of person I want protecting the galaxy." Anderson smiled a genuine smile, and while she didn't think the Captain of the _Normandy_ a handsome man or to her tastes, for a brief moment, she saw what Jannie must have seen in him.

"Well, this guardian of the galaxy would really, really like to know what the hell she needs to be doing." Hale replied with a laugh, Anderson joining in with her. "A Marine in charge of a ship? Don't you know I'll be translating us to the nearest liquor store for a beer run?"

"That's why I put you there, Jennifer. Plus, you already know what I like." The Captain took the bottle of rum and shook it, emphasizing it. They both laughed again.

* * *

The end of watch came, with dinner served and done when Major Jennifer Hale ambled to her personal room. The though of her having her own room, no roommate or bunkmate to share with, was a first for her. Going through the _Normandy's_ Medbay, she waved at Doctor Karin Chakwas as she sauntered through the door that connected her room to the Medbay. What would have been the Science Lab had the Frigate been in need of one had been quickly converted into the Executive Officer's room. The arrangement suited Jen just fine; not having to bunk with a bunch of other female officers in common quarters was a nice change. She stood in her room, admiring the space available. The room was about half the size of Captain Anderson's, which was still twice the size of what she was use to. Hell, she had her own bed as oppose to hot bunking! That alone was worth the rigors of command! The thought of Captain Hannah Shepard back when she was a Lieutenant Commander when she first adopted Jen had her own room on the Dreadnought _Denali_ , but still had to share it with two teenaged girls. How the hell had Hannah managed?

Jen flopped on her bed, a twin-sized with an actual mattress; a luxury aboard a ship. She could remember the last time she slept on a real bed, as most military personnel on R+R would get hotels just for the comfort of a bed and a room. Yet having her own room to herself, not some rented roach motel? The last time she had that was… well, back on her farmstead on Mindoir. Jen thought about her old room as she laid on her bed, a forearm draped on her forehead as she remembered the room of her youth, a more innocent time cruelly cut short. She hated times like these, those quiet hours where she had nothing but her memories and nightmares to comfort her.

The N7 had a host of hobbies and projects that would keep her brain busy from such times, and she went to indulge one of them now. At the foot of her bed, resting in its vertical stand, was her brother's acoustic guitar, the old six-string resting peacefully. Pulling off her DSU blouse and donning her black N7 hoodie, Jen took the guitar in hand, remembering better times; watching her older brother Nathan Hale learn the guitar from their father Patrick, the two Hale men playing and singing together. Her father's guitar had been destroyed during the attack, yet Nathan's had survived, and Jennifer had been lugging it around for years, bringing it with her to every post she had been attached to. During her off-duty hours, it wasn't uncommon to see her sitting in the corner of the ship, playing softly, humming words or singing softly, trying not to disturb the rest of the crew, or gather a following. With her own room now, she didn't have to worry about belting out a song, something she hadn't done since… well, since she and Jannie shared a room in OCS.

Hale's fingers went over the nickel-copper strings, feeling the spiral grooves of each string as she plucked them with calloused fingers, satisfied that the guitar was tuned. Her left hand went to make the beginnings of an E sustained 4th chord, picking each string starting with the heavy E string, and working her way down through the next three, and then going to the skinny E and working her way back up, hitting each string in time. Her fingers worked the dance of the string as a familiar melody began to come from the box of the acoustic guitar, filling her room with its sorrowful tone as she played a song she heard a dozen times from her father and brother, and a thousand times herself. Jen smiled as the words came to mind, and she began to sing them in a melancholy tone.

" _No one knows what it's like,  
to be the bad man, to be the sad man,  
behind blues eyes…_

 _No one knows what it's like,  
to be hated, to be faded,  
for telling lonely lies…_

 _But my dreams, they aren't as empty,  
as my conscious seems to be…  
I have hours, but only lonely,  
my love is vengeance, that's never free…_

 _No one knows what it's like,  
to feel these feelings, like I do,  
and I blame you…_

 _No one bites back as hard, on their anger,  
none of my pain and woe,  
can show through…_

 _But my dreams, they aren't as empty,  
as my conscious seems to be…  
I have hours, but only lonely,  
my love is vengeance, that's never free.._

 _When my fist clenches, crack it open,  
before I use and lose my cool,  
when I smile, tell me some bad news,  
before I laugh and act a fool…_

 _And If I swallow anything evil,  
stick your fingers down my throat,  
if I shivers, please give me a blanket,  
keep me warm, let me wear your coat…_

 _No one knows what it's like,  
to be the bad man, to be the sad man,  
behind blue eyes…_"

' **CHIME** '

"Goddamn it." Hale signed as the doorbell of her room rang, indicating that someone wished to enter. She hit the button beside her bed to see who was on the other side of the door through the Haptic viewer, and she sighed again when she saw who it was.

Damn SPECTREs. Didn't they have a life?

A/N:Thanks to PO3 l. Eby, a Bosum's Mate, on the merits of being a Navy janitor, and what life is like on a boat during a ship deployment crammed into a floating sardine can. A good deal of my information came from him about the feel of a normal, day-to-day routine in the Navy, and translated it to a space command, fitting a few security measures from some Old World British Navy back when boarding actions were a real possibility.

'Behind Blue Eyes', The Who, Who's Next album. Also one of the songs I usually played during a bad day on a deployment. And it does start with an E sus4, though writing about a guitar chord presented an interesting challenge.

And I had to throw a Guardian of the Galaxy reference in there. Just because I like being silly at times.


	11. Arterius: Quarterdeck

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Arterius, Quarter Deck**

SSV _Normandy_ , Arcturus Stream, March 23, 2183, 2147 Zulu

Saren Arterius moved through the _Normandy's_ Medbay, stalking through the ship with as little wake as he could muster being a Turian aboard a human System Alliance vessel. That meant no matter what he did, where he moved, or how much he tried to stay in the shadows, at least half-a-dozen eyes were at him at any given moment. The effect was maddening, though the SPECTRE should have been use to it by now; he was a Counsel Agent, and any who knew that would always give him their full attention, whether it be a law-abiding citizen or someone who was a little less than a role model. Perhaps it was being with a species that he didn't like or trust that got under his plates, though he knew better than to judge an entire species and write them off as worthless. Had Humanity not produce some accomplished warriors, some grudgingly brilliant results? He thought of some of the actions in which the Alliance was responsible for; Elysium, Benning, Korvan, LV 426, and of course Torfan. Sol and Khar'shan were so close to one another, and something had put the Batarians at odds with Humanity; probably the fact that Humanity didn't take _tark_ from anybody, no matter how far down the list in strength or technology they were. That was something that the Turian in him could respect. That the Humans wanted to stand tall and proud among their galactic kin was something that he recognized as a Turian trait, and he could see some similarities between their species. So they were a few centuries behind in technology and numbers, that didn't stop the Turians from taking on the Krogan. He thought back to Major Jennifer Hale's words, how Humanity and the Alliance had to… 'wing it', to show their worth. It wasn't dishonorable to bluff your enemy, to make them think that one was better than one really was. It was a war tactic, and sometimes, it meant the difference between a victory and a defeat. It was just another point in Humanity's favor, that sometimes gall and bravado were more powerful weapons than Dreadnoughts and mass-accelerator cannons.

Saren wanted to talk, and there were only two Humans aboard the _Normandy_ that he thought worth a damn.

The Turian SPECTRE went to the door that would lead to the Major's personal room, a piece of silver tape ubiquitously known to the humans as '90 MPH tape', despite the fact that it didn't provide any means of locomotion, had been put on the door with 'Maj. Hale' written in black permanent ink. The ship's Doctor, an older human woman who was arching a eye-plate, called an eyebrow, at him, watching him as he was to hit the intercom to request admittance, stopped his talons when he heard the sound of something he had never heard before coming through the door. It sounded like… well, some sort of musical instrument, a stringed one at that. No synths, no warbling, and none of that Asari dubwash-trance techno _tark_ ; someone was playing an honest-to-Spirits musical instrument. Saren paused as he listened to the melody of the instrument, muted through the door, though he heard it well enough to recognize individual notes coming at a speed that was rather complicated and impressive for something not done on some software.

And then the words came, and Saren felt his mandibles flare.

The song, something about being behind blue eyes, was a painful one, and the voice that sang it was thick with a sorrow that had his spirit twist inside of him. That a Human voice could reach inside of him and wring out pain and agony could only prove that sometimes there really wasn't anything different between two separate species besides the physical. Saren had never heard the song before, never having been interested in Human music, but the words were surprising. The lyrics themselves were of loss and anger, yet the voice that sang them, the tone that set the mood spoke of an agonizing anger and tortured spirit that flowed through the instrument and words. The Turian wasn't one to cry, but that song, that voice… it was worse than the most agonizing torture he could imagine.

"I listen to her play, every night." The older human Doctor spoke softly, and Arterius turned to her, looking at her clear blue eyes as she looked at him, her face set at an impasse that showed that she was hiding her own emotions. "She picks up that guitar of hers and plays it for an hour or two, and every song's like that. First time I heard it, I wanted to cry and drink myself into oblivion. Never have I heard a more heart-wrenching cry of pain than I've heard from Major Hale."

"Spirits." Saren muttered, a little embarrassed that the Doctor had figured out his thoughts, though he wasn't shamed by it. She felt the same thing, too, and had admitted to it; a brave act in itself. "So no other Human musicians are like that? I would think it would drive your species to suicide!"

"No!" The Doctor laughed, shaking her head. "There's been a few, but no one sings the Who like Jennifer Hale. At least wait until she finishes the song; I think that's her Zen." Saren had to look that up. Evidently, 'Zen' was a state of equal balance or tranquility within oneself, something related to a philosophical religion called Buddhism. The Turian looked through a bit of it, and found himself fairly impressed with the idea. The song had finished inside the room, and Saren pressed the signal button on the door, notifying Hale that he wanted to come in, looking at the camera that would show his image to her. A moment later, the door slid open, and Saren Arterius saw Jennifer Hale sitting on her bed, a wooden instrument in her hand. His eyes scanned the small room, which was a little smaller than what most Turian officers had in terms of space. He noted a few personal objects that the Major had; the instrument on her lap, a small portable vid display with an actual physical screen as oppose to a Haptic one for watching vids on, and a large Alliance recruitment poster on a wall facing the bed, so that whenever Hale woke up, it would be looking at her. The poster caught his eye for a long moment, specifically the subject.

The subject was a Human woman in Alliance armor, standing in a heroic pose with the Alliance banner planted in the ground in one hand, and a Marshal Light Machine Gun in the other, barrel to the sky. The banner was swept back as if caught with the wind, along with the woman's red fringe hair. He of course recognized the figure of 1st Lieutenant Jane Catherine Shepard, the poster seemingly making her larger-than-life, the Lion of Elysium proud and defiant. The poster was a good one, making Shepard look like some deified spirit, standing in front of the city of Bernard, Elysium, as if she had landed in front of it from the heavens to protect the people. He had seen the poster enough in the Citadel, near the more human-centric areas, meant to inspire the men and women of humanity into joining the Alliance. Even Saren admitted that the Hierarchy could learn a thing or two about making such propaganda. Hale noticed where his gaze went, and she scoffed out loud.

"I've had that poster for years. Since '77, in fact." The Major told the Turian, though her eyes were on the image of Lieutenant Shepard, her adopted sister. "Whenever I raided a slaver base and rescued people, put some slavers in the ground, I'd tell her all about it." Hale nodded to the poster, indicating what she meant. "Every good day or bad, I'd talk to my sister, knowing that she was really out there somewhere, doing what she does best. We couldn't be together, but I knew that if she were here, she'd listen. So I'd talk to her, and I'd think about what she would say after a nice long bitch session. I guess with you being Turian, you'd understand about having the spirit of somebody with you."

"I do." Saren nodded, looking to the poster, and then to the Major. He did get it. He himself still had a picture of his elder brother, Desolas, that he took with him everywhere. Even after what his brother did, Saren still loved his long-lost dead brother, and talked to his image. He could most definitely understand. "Sometimes it feels good to talk to someone you trust, even if they aren't there. No reservations, no secrets, no fear of reprisal. Part of being a SPECTRE is the secrecy. Being an N7, I'm sure you're use to some of the finer things in life in dealing with the scum and making sure that it never sees the light of the day." To that, the Marine slowly nodded, looking at the guitar in her hand, obviously deep in thought.

"My… my first real mission as an N7 was hitting a pirate base, just some two-bit loser thugs who somehow caught up with the ire of the Alliance. One of the ships they hit up was the private yacht of an Alliance Senator, not something an N7 SKT goes after…"

"SKT?" The Turian asked. He was about to look it up, but there were so many Human acronyms that it would be pointless.

"Scout Kill Team; sneak in, eliminate, sneak out. Or, Tuesday for a SPECTRE." Hale smirked with her horizontal mandibles. "It was on some shithole planet in the Traverse; Hekate System in the Hades Nexus, but I can't remember the shithole planet. Ker, I think? Anyhow, we find this pirate base shoved into the side of the mountain, some 'over-zealous Batarian patriots' that the Hegemony loves to foist the blame on for the people they hire to pirate, slave, steal, and murder in the 'verse, and in less than five minutes, the five of us N's have got twelve pirates trying to breath through the new nostrils we punched into their lungs and skulls, and their leader is holding a gun on a hostage. Hostage is a 16 year old human girl, a Carnifax pointed at her temple."

"Spirits. Savages…" Saren shook his head, detesting any scum that would bring children into the fold, or use them. "Wait, weren't you that age during Mindoir?"

"Yes." Hale admitted softly, looking away for a moment, her eyes touching the poster. "I won't lie; my entire life flashed before me right then and there, and I couldn't help myself but love what I was about to do. I'm considered one of the ten best shots in the Alliance, and here's this Batarian scumbag hold a Human girl hostage, standing right in front of me. The situation couldn't have been more perfect for me, and I had this gun, a heavily-modified M-3 Predator Mk. 4 that didn't collapse into a smaller carrying configuration so I could fast-draw and fire it if the situation ever dictated it. Bangkok Rules is something I've practiced at the range, and I'm _scary_ fast." The Turian looked up 'Bangkok Rules' and found it to be a duel between two humans with guns, where both would draw and fire at the same time. The winner was generally the one with the fastest draw and the straightest shot, and harken back to a time when Humanity was using chemically-propelled firearms and no armor. Brutal… but the idea of a duel of speed and skill piqued his interest. He'd have to give that a shot. Hale continued after he looked up the information, having stopped to indulge his curiosity. "I remember snapping up my Predator and putting a round right in between all four of the Batarian's eyes, splitting his skull into quarters, that weak point where a good shot will completely collapse their skull and nervous system and prevent them from pulling a trigger or hitting a detonator on a bomb even in death." Saren nodded, knowing exactly with the Marine was talking about; the major nerve cluster was in line with the spot that was centered in the middle of a Batarian's head, right in line with the foci of their eyes. A round in that spot, the size of small pebble, would obliterate a Batarian's skull and lock up their nerves, preventing them from having any death throes or muscular response to a sudden demise. Even at close range, hitting it on purpose was an amazing shot, but with Hale, the SPECTRE knew she wasn't fabricating it; it was as she said, the Marine was considered one of the ten best shots in the Alliance with just about any firearm. "Girl jumped and Batarian fell back, and I couldn't have been happier with the result; just saved an innocent life, and killed some Batarian scum that deserved it.

"But then the girl started crying over his body."

"That's… unusual." Saren mused, thinking it over. "Even Human mercenaries and pirates generally don't get along with Batarians, either. Did the girl care for him?"

"Yes, as we later found out." The Major answered, her voice thick, obviously still disturbed by the incident that happened years before. "It took us a bit to get the story out of her, but what we learned was… revolting. The Batarians were hired _by_ her to kidnap her from her Senator father. She had forward them the yachts' itinerary, paying them money she embezzled from her father's accounts." The Turian's mandibles slowly widened in disbelief. Spirits, the girl hired the Batarians for the sole purpose of kidnapping her? What was she thinking? "We came to learn that the fine Senator was using her for child pornography and pedophilia purposes." That had Saren's anger flare up, having busted a few rings of such things in the past. "The Batarians that she hired weren't pirates, but actually legitimate independent defense security contractors with the Blue Suns Security Solutions Corporation. She had hired them to get her out, with the intent of escaping. And a part of her contract stated that she would rather die than be rescued. That last Batarian I killed? He wasn't holding her hostage… he was trying to save her from _us_."

"Spirits, Hale. You didn't know." Saren replied, though disturbed by the thought. What would he have done if he had been put in that situation? The same as Hale, to be sure, but to discover that he had been duped? He would have killed that Senator… but then again, he was a SPECTRE, and he had the authority. He doubted the Marine Major had the same type of discretion available to her. "What happened?"

"I handed her to the only person I knew that would tell a Senator to go fuck himself and not give a shit about the repercussions; Fleet Master Jon Grissom." The N7 smiled grimly, the look savage on the Human woman's face, the diagonal scar on her face making it look more brutal. "The Alliance Bureau of Investigations took her statement and actually ran with it as oppose to shying away from political repercussions, and they found that everything the girl said was true; her father was the Goddamn child porn king of Earth, and he was very much into having sex with underage girls. His ass went to prison for a very long time, but that was when doing the right thing felt like shit. I wish I hadn't killed those Batarians, I wish I had done a little more digging into the mission when it didn't sound quite right to me. I had never asked for a surrender, and though I doubt the Blue Suns Batarians would have told me the truth, I feel like I murdered them. That I was the bad guy that day."

"Did you know that we were looking into Captain Anderson as a potential candidate for being a SPECTRE?" Saren asked the Major, who looked at him with some surprise. "It wasn't anything official, and the Alliance hadn't been informed. I had… simply requested him for a mission that was rather extreme and dangerous, to see the man in action before pushing forward with the possibility of making him a candidate. We had this mission in Camala dealing with weapons shipments and illegal AI research that ended up on the wrong side of a victory; I was forced to destroy the entire complex to erase the research and prevent it from getting into the wrong hands. There were a few unfortunate victims in the blast, ones that Anderson was pleading for me to save by giving them the time to escape. Unfortunately, when it comes to AI research, even a single Omnitool can infect an entire network, and I deemed that the loss of those innocents more preferable than the possibility of an AI-ran vessel or communication hub. I even remember the scientist who was running it trying to entice me with the thought of a sentient AI from some strange Prothean-era artifact. I didn't take the chance, and destroyed both."

"The terrorist and hostage scenario." Hale recalled, bringing up what Saren had offered a few days before, making the Turian nod. "How did Anderson handle it?"

"Not well." The SPECTRE admitted with a shrug. "He blamed me for the death of the innocent workers and the destruction of the Eezo refinery. I realized that Anderson, while a fine warrior, was _too_ good a man to be a SPECTRE. I took responsibility for my actions, and the Counsel agreed with my decision, though it cost hundreds of workers their lives. Your Captain didn't agree with either my assessment or the Counsel's. In some ways, I don't blame him. I did murder those people in the name of galactic peace and security, and would do so again without any hesitation. We Turians have an expression for such an action; 'the cruel calculus of war'." The Turian explained, looking at the Human female in front of him. "What price are _you_ willing to pay to prevent another Mindoir or Elysium? Humanity really hasn't had that opportunity or scenario yet, where both choices that are faced are both horrifying."

"We usually call it the lesser of two evils, but I see your point." Hale replied thoughtfully. "I was thinking of Commander Forsythe, talking down that uprising. It ended well, but what would have happened if the revolutionaries weren't willing to discuss or negotiate? What happens during the next revolution, when they think they can take hostages because they know that the Alliance is more willing to talk than it is to solve the problem?"

"Exactly." Saren nodded, pleased. "It is best for one to think of such situations, and search oneself for their own personal choices; what would you do in such situations. It is not to reflect on my actions, but your own. Would you kill an innocent to save five others? Would you kill one just to save another? These are choices that we have to face, and though it rarely comes to that, remember that it was Turian SPECTREs and Salarian STG members that delivered the Genophage to Tuchanka in order to put down the Krogan Rebellion. What do you do when the best answer is a catastrophe?"

"I… hadn't thought of it that way." The Marine admitted, obviously thinking it over. "As you said before, it depends on the situation and what I would be willing to take responsibility for. Would I drop an atomic bomb on a town to save millions, knowing that I would forever be labeled a monster?" To Saren's surprise, the N7 didn't immediately reply, obviously mulling it in her mind. "What does the Counsel say on such matters?"

"That is exactly why the Counsel created the SPECTREs, because they trust us to make the decisions they can't due to politics and current trends." The Turian explained. "Did you know that despite that half the SPECTREs are Turians, not one fought in the First Contact War?" Hale indicated that she hadn't known that. "Some SPECTREs make for great front-line fighters, which was why they were selected to become Agents of the Counsel. Yet when the Hierarchy tried to subtly ask Turian SPECTREs to infiltrate into human space for deep-space strikes and behind-the-front sabotage, each and every one of them refused. Turians refusing an order to a man."

"That's… wow. Completely the opposite of what I know of your species." Major Hale pointed out, looking surprised. "I… well, I never thought about it, but I had assumed that SPECTREs were there on Shanxi. What was their reasoning behind the refusal, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Because they thought that, despite Humanity trying to illegally activate a Relay, they were the ones that were being wronged." Arterius explained, something he had been told in the years following the Relay 314 Incident. "The Hierarchy had never tried to stop that science vessel, to get in its way and posture a threat. If they had done so, the entire incident could have been avoided. If that had been a SPECTRE, the vessel may have been destroyed, yet that would have been the only ship to have been attacked. The rest of the matter would have been handled by the Counsel, the threat explained to Humanity. Instead, the Hierarchy took it upon itself to be the aggressor, without Counsel sanction or approval, I might add, ignoring all First Contact guidelines as well as authorized force against colonies and defenses. The Turians were in the wrong, and the Turian SPECTREs saw it. It was, in fact, a Turian SPECTRE who had come forth to the Counsel to explain what was going on, which ended the Incident in a matter of weeks instead of months or longer. While Humanity fought proudly and bravely, we would have won due to the size of our fleets and our vastly superior technology. One SPECTRE made that difference."

"Wow." Hale leaned back, obviously surprised by the revelation Saren had told her. "I take it that no one else really knows about this, do they? Classified SPECTRE mission and all?"

"No."

"Can I ask the Turian's name? If I ever meet him, I want to shake his hand."

"That will be impossible, as he has gone to the Spirits some time ago." The Turian replied, the common euphemism among Turians to indicate that someone was dead. "But his name was Karlus Korvar. I've always wondered if I would do the same thing in his position. It's that doubt and wonder that makes me strive to be better, to push myself into making sure I'm making the best possible choice, be it the ones that will save the most amount lives immediately, or in the long run."

"Now I see why the SPECTREs are so strict in choosing their members. Here I thought they just look for the best warriors, but what they are looking for are the best _example_ of warrior, not necessarily the best fighters." Hale pointed out.

"Exactly." Saren agreed. "Anderson might have done well as a SPECTRE, but it was obvious that his conscious would not let him chose a hard right, that the result of his action might be something that he would be more uncomfortable with. There have been SPECTREs who were like that in the past, and sadly, they do not last long. Most end up hiring their services out like mercenaries and saboteurs, and end up turning into the very same things that we hunt down. That is why SPECTREs such as myself go through a selection process for each candidate, to have them do a series of missions; to gauge their decisions, and also why they chose those decisions. The last thing we ever want to hear is 'it was the right thing to do'. Trust me on that one."

"Ha! I get that! And I definitely agree with you there." The Major replied, chuckling. "That sounds like Dravonich, a jumped-up legal thug whose all too keen on pulling the trigger and killing everything in front of him. I… won't say anything about Meer. I'm sure you know your job well enough, and I can't say for certain that he is or isn't good for the job. Just be careful around the man; way too many accusations have been leveled his way without sticking to make me think he doesn't have someone upstairs pulling for him. That kind of thought scares me, honestly."

"I remember Grissom bringing up the rumors and accusations of credit-stealing in the battlefield, as well as being a racist and… what is a 'sexist'?" Saren asked, remembering that he hadn't remembered to look up that word.

"It means someone who is gender-biased." The N7 replied darkly, her face going grim. "I know that one for a fact, but I'll just let you see it for yourself. It's probably frowned upon if I start mudslinging the other candidate."

"I believe I've already seen such an incident already; he never seems to address any of the females by their ranks." The SPECTRE replied, in which he saw the Marine nod her head in agreement, obviously quite aware of what he had noticed himself. "Considering the most advanced race in the galaxy is comprised of Biotic blue females, he might want to rethink that position."

"What, and miss the chance of him eating a singularity?" Hale asked, completely dead-panned, and for the life of him, Saren couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

" _Jump translation successful._ " The voice of Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau came over the intercom near the Helm, where Commander Jennifer Hale stood, standing at Guard, what Humans called 'Parade Rest', watching as the galaxy map in front of her began to display the Argos Rho system, updating planetary positions, the ship's relative position, any known vessels in the area, signal intercepts, and any plotted areas to avoid. The Haptic display of the system showed the ship to be within a few hundred kilometers from the Relay, the forward thrust of the ship being at zero for Mass Relay translation. Saren Arterius had to admit that the ship's translation was one of the finest he had ever felt; there was almost no vibration or cavatation throughout the ship as the vessel was propelled at speeds greater than three thousand light years an hour. It either spoke of the ships' ingenuous design or the pilot's skill that one hardly felt the beginning or ending of a translation. Saren had been on ships that had shook so badly that one wondered if the vessel was going to break apart mid-translation. For the _Normandy_ , though, it didn't even disturb a crew member's sleep pattern.

" _We have arrived in the Argos Rho Cluster, Hydra System, all systems green, drift at 800 km._ " The pilot's voice came through the intercom where Major Jennifer Hale stood, both Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik standing in the back of the Bridge. Both SPECTREs stood silently, watching the activities of the _Normandy_ as the men and women of the Alliance worked diligently at their posts, sailors at their workstations, monitoring Haptic displays as their fingers input on Haptic keyboards and Haptic touch screen displays. All the while, Commander Jennifer Hale watched as they worked, the display having the _Normandy_ seemingly right next to the Mass Relay in the Hydra System.

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant Moreau." Hale spoke in reply over the intercom, studying the updated galaxy map. "Set a course for… Syba, it's the closer of the two gas giants before we burn for the Phoenix System. Bleed any excess heat from the IES when we discharge at Syba, and let's see if we can sneak up on Pinnacle, see how close we can get before someone notices us." Saren snorted at the thought; they were on a stealth ship, why not use it on friendly forces? "Keep us at 95% Light Speed before we hit the Phoenix System. According to the Alliance Operator's Manual on this vessel, the stealth system _should_ work as long as we don't red/blue shift into warp speed. That'll give us," The _Normandy's_ XO did a calculation on her workstation, inputting numbers into a calculator, "four hours stealth time. We'll mark the time someone hails us or targets us."

" _You're nuts, Commander, but I like the way you think._ " The pilot returned over the intercom, his voice cheerfully sarcastic. " _Seventeen minute flight to Syba, 3 hour and 7 minute discharge at Syba, a 3 hour and 5 minute flight to the Phoenix System, and another 2 hours and 14 minutes to Pinnacle Station at 95 Sub-light._ " The Turian merely turned to his partner, who was grinning; Nihlus always did love taking risks. Another eight and a half hours to kill on an Alliance Frigate; what, by the Spirits, was he suppose to do in the meantime? He had already been stuck on this ship for over three days sucking down barely-palatable Turian military rations that had probably expired back during the Relay 314 Incident and being uncomfortable in a sleeper pod that might have been designed for a Vorcha. Despite the ship's state-of-the-art design and innovations, Saren wasn't thrilled with the prospect of spending almost another half of a day in the _Normandy_. Thankfully, the holographic range was available at all times of the day, and the only ones who really used it were the Marines, who were on a schedule as to when they could use it for their squad firing exercises. The SPECTRE had silently attended one of those, watching Master Sergeant Maldonado run her platoon through a series of battle drills, scenarios, fields-of-fire exercises, and one iteration that was called 'hogan's alley duck hunt wack a mole'; random targets would fly out, pop out, sprint out, or nest out on a holographic backdrop of an urban environment, and the Marines had a free-for-all. The idea was that a Marine could 'win' by having the most kills, meaning they outshot their peers at a much faster rate. The scenario was intermixed with non-targets, forcing the Marines to positively identify hostile from non-hostile, as well as friendly forces, to prevent fratricide. The platoon spent two hours in the range, and Saren stayed the whole time, practically unnoticed saved by the Master Sergeant herself, watching the squad work. The Turian in him had to admit that the squad of Marines in front of him were impressive; they would hold their own against an equal size of Turian soldiers.

Coming from him, that was about as grand a compliment as the Humans could ever hope to receive.

"Acknowledged, Flight Lieutenant. Engage." Commander Jennifer Hale replied, returning Saren from his fantasy of stealing the Human shuttle down in the cargo bay and leaving monkey-town. He missed the smell of a Hierarchy ship, the sight of short fringes and supportive waists, the soft undertones of the female voice that could sooth or agitate with just a few words. Thankfully, Nihlus was there to relate; Turians were a social creature, after all, and they didn't do well alone as they had evolved from migratory flocks of avian-like land creatures. Thankfully, being a SPECTRE meant that he had his own ship and crew, populated mostly with Turians, which helped avoid such a situation as separation anxiety. No one wanted to see a Turian on the lunatic fringe from separation anxiety.

"Something is bothering you." Nihlus pointed out softly, low enough in his second voice-box to keep the other Humans from known that they were even having a conversation. Saren didn't even look at his partner, the SPECTRE Commando's voice being communicated to him by means of a throat-mike that humanity developed centuries ago for means of communications without having to use one's hands. For a somewhat backwards race, the people of Earth had certainly evolved into an interesting race that came up with chaotic inspirations and innovations. Like the throat-mike. Or MediGel. It would be interesting to see where their species would be in the next century in terms of technology and advancement. Would they have a Counsel member? Would their species rock the boat further, or would it help stabilize? At least they were better than the Spirits-be-damned Batarians; he never did trust those four-eyed slugs. "It isn't Pandorum, is it?"

"Spirits, even you know it is too early for even mild symptoms to be onset now." Saren growled, and immediately frowned, not-at-all pleased that he had lost his temper. Turians were a predatory race that had evolved from flightless birds, and were not only group hunters, but clannish as well. Space travel, unfortunately, had adverse effects on the species of the galaxy, and Turians were one of the more susceptible species. Countless credits had been spent on research and development of psychological factors, pharmaceuticals, and even lighting and design to aid in lessening the impact of long-term space voyage on the species as a whole. Saren knew that Humans had to change interior windows to fool the brain into thinking that there was a day/night cycle, while giving crew members and travelers a series of medications, such as sleeping pills and anti-anxieties, to lessen such impact. For the Asari, it was subtle music played in sleeping quarters and gentle lighting that matched the color of Thessia's sun. For Turians, it was sociological; the feeling of being with one's own species. For a Turian SPECTRE, the Agent was required to have a crew of no less than ten members of its own species to avoid the strain of the condition known throughout the galaxy as Pandorum; an onset of symptoms that included paranoia, psychosis, and even suicide. He himself was more susceptible than most Turians, having been a member of the Cabal, as well as a Blackwatch operative and a veteran of the Relay 314 Incident. What Humans called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder evidently affected the militant race from Palaven, and Humanity's contributions into the disorder had helped the Hierarchy in working towards progress against the effects of Pandorum. Saren didn't like the accusation of Pandorum given to him by Nihlus, but his partner was to monitor him for any signs, just as he was to monitor Nihlus. It was a nasty, if necessary, business. "Perhaps it has been a bit too long for me in interacting with others. I did just get off a three-week mission after all, and haven't visited with any Clan members or even just taken a small vacation."

"No worries. Pinnacle Station has a healthy Turian population in it. Something like a few dozen Talons for the Counsel Defense and Engagement Force." Nihlus pointed out, making Saren purr in reply. "Got some females, too. Be nice for a little R+R on the Alliance's credit."

"Ah, always thinking with your head and not with your brain." The SPECTRE accused his partner good-naturedly, making Nihlus chuckle quietly. "I believe we shall be at Pinnacle Station for a few days. Perhaps a visit to the Turian Quarters will be a good reprieve. Maybe Pinnacle has a Companion that I can look into."

"Knowing your luck, it will be a Elcor Cow with the scale itch." Nihlus jested, and Saren's only response was to sigh.

* * *

A/N: The psychological effects and impacts of long-term space habitation is a new field of study that is actually real. I borrowed the name 'Pandorum' from the movie with Ben Foster and Dennis Quaid; the movie was an interesting concept, if lamely executed. Geospatal Studies are based upon Astronauts/Cosmonauts and space effects, in which I believe the longest single stay in space is only been four or five months. No one wishes to do longer due to physical atrophy of the body, decalcification of the bones, and other physical side effects of space, not to mention living in what is essentially a damn soda can in space. Have you seen the old SkyLab or the International? My fucking shitty apartment has more cubic footage.

Yes, I mention a Companion, like Firefly/Serenity. No, Inora will not be making an appearance. Deal with it. They are more like the Consort and her harem... I mean _acolytes_.

The mission to Camala, in which Saren and Anderson were on, is in fact the Mass Effect: Revelation story. Dr. Quan is the one who bribes Saren with the sentient AI research, which leads him to Sovereign in ME. This does not happen here, as he actually kills Dr. Quan and blows up the faciility just to be on the safe side. Saren Arterius is not the bad guy here; no Indoctrination, no Reaperfication. Stay true, faithful reader.

I mention LV-426 of _Aliens_ fame. Yes, Hadley's Hope is in this story, though no Xenomorphs are present. It won't be either _Aliens_ , nor will it be my _Mass Effect vs. Aliens: The Siege Of Hadley's Hope_ story. This will be explained later one when I introduce a character from that storyarc, though by no means a crossover, just borrowing. _El Riesgo Siempre Vive!_

I'm doing my best to keep as many locations as canon as possible, like Ker and Syba; Ker is a landable planet in ME, and Syba is a gas giant that is acknowledged as a good discharge point in the Galactic Codex in the ME series. Korvan and LV-426 are original locations, just like the Briars, Vegius Sector, and Korrman from _Hale: Office of Naval Personnel_. There will be new locations in this story.


	12. Meer: Office

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Meer, Office**

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 24, 2183, 1543 Pinnacle

After a long flight and a grueling three and a half days aboard the SSV _Normandy_ , Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer was glad to be stepping foot aboard Pinnacle Station.

The start-of-the-art Frigate had docked with Pinnacle an hour before, after sitting for nearly twenty minutes undiscovered because of the vessel's IES stealth system, getting as close as ten kilometers to the station. Meer hadn't been amused by the maneuver, telling the cunt that it was a sure fire way of them getting attacked by their own people, sneaking up on the galaxy's seventh largest defense station. Of course, Captain Anderson had thought it a splendid idea, giving the folly the green light as the cunt had the _Normandy's_ pilot come within ten-thousand meters of no less than the bridge windows of Pinnacle Station itself. Evidently, they had been discovered when one of the station's Defense and Traffic Control Operators had decided to look out the view port in front of them and had noticed a speck in the black that wasn't a star. The _Normandy_ had been hailed with the ambiguous 'unknown vessel' that they couldn't see on radar or LADAR. It had been one technicians' idea to use the old-school method of a sonar ping that finally got the _Normandy_ on their scopes, and a rather irate Admiral Ahern got onto the station's frequency, telling the _Normandy_ it was free to dock in the Alliance section of the ship. Of course the cunt was amused to no end that her idea had come to a success, where a ship like the _Normandy_ could sneak up upon a vessel or station and put a mass-accelerated round through a bridge and possibly assassinate a bridge and its staff with one hit. The ship's pilot, Lieutenant Moreau, was now gushing about the ship's maneuverability and capabilities, offering to marry it. Captain Anderson was all smiles as the damn birds stood in silence, though even Meer could tell that the SPECTREs were pleased with the results.

Fucking cunt was going to get them all killed, and they were patting her on the back!

Captain Anderson had put the whole ship on liberty leave for 48-hours, Alliance dock workers and security posted to the dock that contained the _Normandy_ so that everyone could leave the confines of the ship while engineers and technicians from Pinnacle could run a full-spectrum refit diagnostics upon the ship to see the full effects of the rigors of translation and travel had upon the Frigate. Meer knew that a nook-and-cranny check, as the Navy called it, took at least 72 hours on a vessel of the _Normandy's_ tonnage and size, as inspectors and analysts looked at practically every bolt, weld, and rivet, checking for even the most minute of cracks and stresses in the framework and supports of the ship. With a ship as unique as the _Normandy_ , with its oversized Tantelus Drive Core, he fully expected it to be at least 96 hours, Admiral Ahern being the type of man who did everything twice just to be reassured. There would also be the diagnostics on the ship's various computer systems, to load in the latest OS's and software programs, update all Alliance Military Access Codes, as well as Citadel Identification Codes. It wouldn't surprise him if they spent the week at Pinnacle as the ship was inspected from bow to stern, from deck to keel, starboard to port.

Mark briefly wondered if his friends in the Corporation would add anything to the ship as well, and that made him smile.

Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer strode towards the bridge of Pinnacle Station, passing by the corridor of the Alliance Tactical Response Unit, the unit he had served with for the past year before being transferred to the _Normandy's_ command with his candidacy to being a Counsel Agent. Being a part of Ahern's TRU was a prestigious honor, as only the best of the best made it to the Alliance's most elite deep-space infiltration and reactionary unit. Coined 'the Hellfighters', they responded to every emergency beacon, every distress call, and every mayday heard in Alliance Space, as well as the borders of the Attican Traverse. Though it was an Alliance Command, there were also several Turian Talons, Asari Hunting Parties, and Salarian Insertion Units that made up the TRU. Ahern was a big believer in studying alien tactics if only to better prepare for them, and did well with the birds, noodleheads, and tadpoles. Meer didn't envy the man; how the Admiral didn't kick them off the station on the spot was beyond him.

It was the Admiral he was going to see.

The Lieutenant Commander had received a message only twenty minutes prior, Ahern requesting his presence in his office at 1600 Pinnacle, and Meer was rather happy with that. Ahern and he had a lot in common, most importantly with their extra-organizational motivations and activities. The Admiral had been in the Corporation from almost the very beginning, and was a powerful set of eyes for the organization. For a man who was rumored to be the next Fleet Master of the Alliance, the Corporation would do just about anything to make sure he stayed in his position with all the necessary efforts to promote that he was the man for the job. Even Meer knew the man had earned every respect and honor in conjunction with his name, the former leader of the infamous 'Legacy' team one of the most famous humans alive. It was he that Meer had been serving under for the past year, and he that Meer was going to meet now, now that he was a SPECTRE candidate. The Lieutenant Commander wondered what the purpose of the meeting was. Probably to give him further instructions from one of the Committee Members. That suited him fine. Meer strode through the gunmetal grey corridors of Pinnacle Station, his eyes only on his destination and not on the variety of personnel that he walked by down the four-meter wide hallways that encircled the outer ring of the station, though he did sneer at a few random Turian Talons that walked by, and helped himself to a good healthy look at a female Marine Sergeant's heart-shaped ass as she walked in front of him for a decent iteration before turning down one hallway, oblivious to his attention while behind her. Mark had to chuckle at that; he thought of that PO3 on the _Normandy_ he had been focusing one-half of his investigation on for his little scheme. Slut was a real looker, too.

And then Meer arrived at the Admiral's office.

The Lieutenant Commander pressed on the signal button on Ahern's door, the display chiming as he looked to the camera imbedded into the wall so that the Admiral could see who was calling upon him. Meer knew that he was still a little early, but that was fine; it never hurt to be early in the military. The small haptic display by the door went from red to green, indicating that the door was now unlocked as the Lieutenant Commander approached the door, the automated sensor sliding the door open for his admittance as Meer walked inside the rather small office of Admiral Tadius Ahern.

"Meer. Sit." Ahern, sitting at his metal desk, working on his station, his haptic display tempested so it could only be seen from the Admiral's direction, didn't stop what he was doing as Meer silently selected one of two metal office chairs available and set it in front of the Admiral's desk and sat on it, patiently waiting as the man behind the desk worked uninterrupted. Despite being almost 60 years in age, Admiral Tadius Ahern was a man in superb physical condition, his DSU's unable to disguise the girth of his body, or the bulge in his biceps. An avid bodybuilder, Ahern spent no less than two hours a day hitting the weights, and could out perform men a third his age to shame with his physical attributes and accomplishments. Simply put, Admiral Ahern was a beast, and looked like he could snap the neck of a Turian if he so desired.

"Goddamn expenses. Goddamn bean-counting sissies. Goddamn Alliance dick-sucking accountants." Ahern growled, shutting off his display, his brown eyes going onto Meer as he folded his hands and set them on the desk in front of him, his stern face giving away nothing as he inspected Meer with eyes that had seen more than Meer ever would. If Meer and Ahern hadn't had the same affiliations with the Corporation, the Lieutenant Commander might have been worried. At least he knew that they worked on the same side, towards the same common goal; the survival, preservation, and advancement of Earth and the human race.

"You stupid, brain-dead, jackass. You had to go and make yourself a fucking SPECTRE candidate." Ahern began, surprising Meer. He had never been reamed by the Old Man before, and he hadn't done anything to deserve it, not that he was aware of. "Do you have any fucking idea what is going on in the Citadel right now? As we speak, Salarian STG Agents are going through every possible transmission, call, letter, and fucking smoke signal you've ever sent, while C-Sec Special Investigations are probably raping every account you've ever own, going through your finances in such a way as I can only describe as the equivalent of snuff pornography. Then, of course, there is the team of Alliance ONI pukes knocking on doors to talk to just about every person you've ever met in your entire life, probably giving them the third degree to remember any and every conversation they might have had with you. Do you know what a pain in the fucking ass this is?"

"Sir, I…" Meer started, but Ahern cut him off.

"Shut… the fuck… up." Ahern told him, never yelling once. The Old Man's tone was pure titanium; he didn't need to yell. "All it takes is one Asari mindfuck to see through the ruse we've put around you to discover that you're in the Corporation, and that the Admiralty vetted you as clear. Can you imagine the political shitstorm that will ensue if just one fucking person you've ever crossed or wronged decides to spill? And you've got a list of fucking haters that's thicker than a Krogan's skull. Who in their right fucking mind thought it would be a good idea to submit a fucking Operative as a SPECTRE Candidate? Did the Committee think that this was a joke? To jump the gun without thinking this shit through for one fucking second? Did you actually engage your brain when they made you the offer?"

"Sir, I…" Ahern interrupted him again.

"Shut… the fuck… up." The Old Man sighed, rubbing a thick hand through the stubble of his greying hair. "The absolute complete idiocy that this stinks of is so nauseating, that I can't comprehend what the fuck the Committee was thinking of. You are possibly the worst fucking idea ever to toss at the Counsel. Dravonich or Carter would have been a better choice. Them, we could have approached later on with support. You? You're a Goddamn walking textbook of a walking erection on a life-support system. How the fuck the Board didn't stop to think that you were the worst choice out of all of those limp-dick candidates is beyond me. Just because we doctored reports and evidence that it was _you_ that killed that Thresher Maw on Akuze doesn't mean it could have just been luck or stupid fucking chance that you killed it. Do you have any Goddamn idea what we had to do to put you on that fuckball of a planet and make it look like you were a part of the Alliance squad there? How many records we had to alter? How many people we had to bribe to say that you were on the ground? And you got to run at the fucking mouth and throw yourself at every fucking camera with that cocksucking smile, shaking your ass like a two-bit Asari whore."

"Sir, I…" Meer never stood a chance.

"Shut… the fuck… up." Ahern stood from his seat, moving around his desk so he could sit on top of it in front of the Lieutenant Commander, his brown eyes boring into Meer's. "You are a smart man, but you shove your foot in your mouth every time you open it. You're about a quarter of the warrior you think you are, and frankly I'm tired of having to cover for your ass just because you want to hang back at the rear of the line and throw your men at the bullets and bodies. And don't get me started on the multitude of complaints of sexual harassment and gender-biased commentary. Every fucking time you open your mouth around a woman, it's got to be a sexual slur. Telling a Marine the direction of the fucking galley to where the pots and pans are is just fucking retarded. I would rather you were some philandering whoremonger trying to shove your cock into any wet spot you can find. That is easily dealt with, and half the fucking galaxy would probably applaud you, considering the Asari can fuck anything still breathing and the Turians think casual sex is a fucking necessity. No, instead you've got to run your mouth and practically spout that you hate aliens, you hate women, and that you're God's gift to the Sol System. Hate to pop your fucking bubble, Meer, but in this day and age, no one gives a shit."

Meer was stunned, to say the least. He had been leaning back in the chair, giving himself distance from the Admiral, the tirade that had come forth not at all what he had been expecting. He had thought the Old Man would be in his camp! Instead, he was degrading him!

"I can see it in your eyes, you little punk; you think you got this shit in a bag." Ahern continued, shaking his head slowly. "You think you're going to win this dick-measuring contest against Hale simply because you possess a penis and she does not. Meer, she out-fucking-classes you in _everything_. She may just be the best shot humanity has. She's a ground commander that is now an XO of a Frigate, and not doing too bad a job, if the reports I've read from my source is correct. Turians and Asari think Torfan was handled well, and they don't understand while some humans vilify her. Hell, that vilification is her golden fucking ticket; dangerous, lethal, and a fucking woman. She has this shit in a bag. You are just a sad little cooked-up idea that some lone Committee member had after having too much to drink. I'd kick you off the Goddamn ship right now if I thought no one would question it just to save you the embarrassment."

"I… I can still get this…" Meer tried to explain, but his voice failed him, his tongue going thick in his mouth.

"Ha! With one of your little schemes?" The Admiral barked out a laugh. "Leave the blackmail and the data-mining to the professionals, son. That cute little plot with that hot number that now happens to be Hale's yeoman was a half-cocked scheme that would have backfired. I've taken the liberty of having one of our technicians to go and erase all that you saved on that OSD you think nobody knows about to save yourself the embarrassment before you came forward with doctored evidence that doesn't match the Captain's Log, especially since Captain Anderson has a slave drive on that monitors the feed of his ship from every camera. What the fuck would you do then when you gave him your half-cooked recipe of a plan, and he looks at his own feeds, and find that they don't match? You trying to embarrass Hale will only embarrass yourself. Do yourself the favor, Meer; be a good boy, shut the fuck up, follow the Turian's lead, and take your loss with dignity and grace. Unless, by some unholy fucking coincidence, Hale somehow take a bullet to her fucking head, you won't stand a chance. And I recommend you don't try either. If the Counsel approves you being a Counsel Agent, I want you to know that they monitor SPECTREs at a paranoia level that may include alien anal probing. Not something we want, is it?"

"I… no…" Meer gulped. He hadn't thought of that. SPECTREs supposedly had unlimited authority, but it could very well be possible that they were surveyed vigorously as well in return.

"There's that brain you've been trying _not_ to use all along." Ahern smiled, and it did nothing to make the man more handsome. "Look, Meer. Despite that you are not a front-line fighter, you are a good Operative and with some work, you would make an excellent Committee Member one day. Parliament is definitely within your reach, which is something in your sights, unless I miss my guess." Meer merely nodded dejectedly. "Look, son, I know this would look good for you, but a SPECTRE Candidacy for a Corporate Operative is a horrible idea. It wasn't your idea, which is why I'm not ripping your head off right now. But I want you to think of this; you will be serving on the same ship as a SPECTRE, a SPECTRE, I might add, who doesn't _not_ know how to be either a Commander or a Captain. Hale is going to need someone with the expertise, with the knowledge and training. You have those."

"You want me to be second to that cunt?" Meer asked, feeling his anger growing.

Ahern slapped him, hard.

"You need to stop that shit, sailor." The Admiral growled, his voice getting a little bit louder, his version of yelling. "Yes, I want you to be second to a _SPECTRE_. Think about it, a Corporate Operative in one of the most state-of-the-air ships in the galaxy, running things behind the scene. And Hale isn't a credit-grabber; you run the _Normandy_ while she pleases the aliens, and she will put that in her reports and in your files. XO to Humanity's First SPECTRE is something a man can hang his hat on. XO on Humanity's top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art hybrid Frigate ain't small potatoes either, Mark. Besides, making SPECTRE means you're stuck in that job, and it doesn't come with a long lifespan. Most Turians last ten years, and Salarians peg at four to five. How long do you think Hale will last? Three years? Four, maybe?" Meer admittedly didn't think about that. He wanted to succeed, but in order to do that he had to live as well. SPECTREs weren't notorious for having quiet lives, or long ones. Meer certainly never heard of a SPECTRE retiring, not even in the vids. "You, Meer, have higher aspirations than to be some dead grunt in a life-long military career. You've got political ambitions, and you've got the brains to do it. This is yet another stepping stone, son, a good career move in series of good career moves. You want to be an Alliance Parliament member? Have a resume that impresses. The _Normandy_ is where you need to be. The Chairman, the CEO, and the President all agree with me on this, and already have made moves to make sure that your orders for the SR-1 are permanent."

"I understand." The Lieutenant Commander replied, a little bit sullen.

"Listen, Mark, I know you've got a problem with women." Ahern said. "And I know you hate being second fiddle to Hale. Let nature take its course, and she will soon be out of your way. Hell, in ten months time, when she dead on some shithole, you can lament on how great a warrior she was, and promise to honor her memory by fighting harder for humanity, make yourself look good for the press." That had Meer's attention; the Old Man had a point. "Talk to the woman. You don't have to be friends with her, but let her know that you'll back her plays. Let her win this SPECTRE race, avoid having everyone trying to scrutinize you and potentially embarrassing yourself. All you need to do is shut your fucking mouth and swallow a little bit of that ego of yours. This is an endurance race, not a sprint. Let the Marine get her ground-pounding job while you take what's rightfully yours. This time next year, you'll be in command of a Corvette, a Frigate, or a Destroyer, and three years from now, you'll be an Admiral. And Hale will probably be dead, and you can still ride her coattails. Use her; isn't that what you're good at, using women?"

"Yes." Meer replied, a little more confident about the idea. "And the Chairman, the CEO, and the President are all behind this?"

"Fully, Mark. And to prove it…" Ahren reached back for a datapad, handing it to to the Lieutenant Commander. "Level 4 Access. Anything and everything you need to make sure that the _Normandy_ and its' SPECTRE are a success. And you'll have the lead on this…" Meer was stunned as he took the datapad in hand, reading it briefly. It was indeed as the Admiral said; his status in the Corporation was to improve as well. Level 4? That meant more access, more trust, more of a budget, and the authority to create his own assets that weren't just mere informants and recruits. He could now be in charge of multiple cells within the Corporation, and have any one of them do the dirty work he couldn't due to him being on an Alliance ship. Things were indeed looking up. And the Admiral was correct, being a SPECTRE wasn't the endgame.

"Go to Hale, and bury whatever hatchet it is that you have between the two of you." Ahern informed Meer, his eyes boring into the Lieutenant Commander. "Get her to rely on you, get her to trust you. Spin whatever story or bullshit you need to convince her that you have her back on this, and then you serve under her. And do yourself a favor; keep your fucking mouth shut on the stupid shit, Mark. You're a good asset, but you'll quickly become a liability if you can't reign in your ego. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir." Meer replied automatically, his cheek still stinging from when the Admiral had slapped him. It shouldn't have come as any surprise that a man that powerfully built could slap someone into seeing stars.

"Good. Now get the fuck out of my office and go hit the cantina. Have a few drinks, _and remember whom you serve_."

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer sat in the Pinnacle Cantina, a decent place to drink if he had to sit down and think about it, just enough military to mean that no one would go in and shoot the place up, but relaxed enough that enlisted members and Officers could imbibed without worries of repercussions the next morning unless someone went and did something really stupid. Meer sat at the bar, metal made to look like wood, the Cantina itself designed to remind humans of the legendary Irish pubs of old. He was currently nursing a whiskey-and-coke, mulling over in his thoughts the conversation he had with Admiral Ahern. It wasn't that the Old Man was steering him wrong; Tadius was a straight-shooter, and had always been a staunch believer in the correct ideals for the Corporation.

It was the fact that Meer _hated_ feeling like a failure.

It started in Annapolis, when Meer was in OCS. Had the rotten luck of being in the same class as the bitch and the cunt, the adopted sisters outdoing everyone. Meer had busted his ass for acceptance into OCS, and while being a Tier 1 in the Corporation helped a little bit, he still earned it on his own. For the next four years, while he worked diligently to learn, to strive to reach his potential, he had competition in the bitch Jane Shepard and her cunt of an adopted sister, Jennifer Hale. No matter what he did, those two whores were always there to show him up, to make him look bad. Classes, leadership exercises, ranges, physical training… everywhere Meer turned, one of the two were there to stomp on him, to destroy his dream. He had thought that one or both of them were fucking their instructors, to make up for their differences, but he was never able to get the proof he needed, no matter how hard he tried to monitor the simple camera system that Annapolis possessed, unable to record things directly because the datafeed was so primitive you actually needed a physical storage device! If he had to guess, they were both in on it, switching out and providing alibis for the other so that both wold look exemplary, so it wouldn't look so strange that just one of them was doing so well. The bitch and the cunt probably were blackmailing the same instructors, which was why the instructors never admitted to anything no matter how much Cadet Mark Meer had questioned in a round-about fashion. And what bothered Meer completely is that everyone seemed so _blind_ to it! No slut was worth her weight; did anyone not see that? Gender equality was all well and good in theory, but no woman could run faster than a man, no woman could lift heavier than a man, and women just weren't built the same way. _It was simply fucking biology_ , yet someone, women had convinced men for centuries that 'they could do it'. Meer snorted at the though. All those sluts thought they could fuck their way to the top, as if that proved anything else but what they were.

But of course, when the chips fell, who had to rescue the poor little damsels?

"Simple irony." Meer muttered, sipping more at his whiskey-and-coke, finishing his glass as he lifted it up and shook it at the bartender, an older man who had been working the Pinnacle Cantina probably since it first opened its doors. The older gentleman came with the nozzle, spraying soda and alcohol into his drink. Meer paid the man with his credit chit, taking a sip of his beverage while he simply let the noise and the movement of the Cantina take over his senses, not focusing on any one thing but a thought.

 _The cunt_.

So Ahren wanted him to bow out? To admit that he wasn't good enough? Meer snorted in disgust, shaking his head. So the job was dangerous, and the path difficult; was that not what was required to make men great? To make them legendary? Did the Old Man step aside of the Turians during the FCW? Did he go around and ask if there were another option for leadership of the Legacy team? Of course not! He took reign of the situation and controlled it! Which was exactly what Meer would do! He'd be damned if he was just going to step aside and let some fucking slut waltz her way into the history book just because others didn't think _him_ good enough! Especially not the _cunt_.

Over his dead body.

Mark smiled, taking a sip of his whiskey-and-coke as he looked into the Cantina's mirrors, and something caught his eye; long blonde hair. A glance at the mirror showed it to be none other than Petty Officer, 3rd Class Halverson, the cunt's yeoman. What was her first name again? Sarah? The PO3 was dressed in civilian attire, and as Meer had predicted, the uniform had defeminized curves on her that were both voluptuous and mouth-watering. She was dressed on the border between tart and whore, with tight jeans and a spaghetti strap shirt that showed a good portion of her flat belly and heavy breasts. Of course there were about four sailors and three Marines practically air-humping her at the table she was at, the slut enjoying all the attention. Meer snorted, knowing that the slut would easily have the pick of the litter, each of the men panting over her, each trying to show why he was the best choice. That had the Lieutenant Commander shake his head sadly, knowing that he could easily go over there and wipe the rest of them of the map; he was the Hero of Akuze, after all! But why would he give into that slut's advances, give her some sort of control over him? Knowing how sluts like her worked, she would probably simper and follow him around like some lovesick puppy dog, just begging for a bone. Meer knew better than to stick his dick into a meat grinder, and the PO3 all but shouted 'hand grenade!'.

But it would be interesting to see who would end up fucking her; that kind of information could be useful.

The Spider smiled, waiting patiently, and drank.

* * *

A/N: Pinnacle Station is ran by the Alliance, but not owned by it. Admiral Tadius Ahern is the Commandant of the Station, and is the equivalent of a governor for any civilian disputes for its non-military personnel (such as families and visitors)

Why is Tadius Ahern Cerberus? For someone who fought as hard as he did against the Turians, it seemed to make sense to me. But this Cerberus isn't exactly the Cerberus of the game, either. In the beginning, it made more sense.

And my version of Tadius Ahern is more akin to LogicPremise's Admiral Ahern in language and zero-bullshit factor. Though surprisingly, mine is less foul-mouthed. Don't believe me? Check out OSABC: That Which Cannot Die and get over the Goddamn crying emo fucking bullshit.

And I apologize to all femaledom about the sexist comments; I served with a sexist, and his commentary, to say the least, was rather colorful. I am using some of his reasonings to make Meer sound like a complete utter fuckwad. If he wasn't so essential to the story, I'd conspire an accident that would involve a mouse, a pot, and a blowtorch. Don't ask.


	13. Ahern: Decisions

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

A/N: Today, you learn of 'Operation: Viking' and what Cerberus is. Hold on, it gets good.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Ahern, Decisions**

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 24, 2183, 1558 Pinnacle

Admiral Tadius Ahern rubbed at his eyes, trying to get over the bad taste in his mouth concerning his meeting with that simpering little cocksucker, Meer. The Lieutenant Commander was the poster child of the Alliance Navy... and the Goddamn guidebook on why it was all going to shit. Little fake ran around like he was God's gift to the universe, with a chip on his shoulder that was the size of a small asteroid. Ahern snorted as he pulled up a file on his terminal, marked 'Operation Viking', an old operation of the Corporation... back when there was still was a Cerberus to claim, not... whatever the fuck it was now.

After Shanxi, the Alliance was a hot mess. Both of their Fleets had been thrashed liberating the colony, and they had been looking at fifteen fully-armed, fully-prepared Turian Fleets gunning for war with two Fleets of Asari holding the leash in one hand, and a pen and a 'diplomatic solution' in the other. Sure, the Blues were all female-looking, with nice racks and asses to drool over, but one of them crooked their finger, and the Turians deployed with overwhelming numbers to decimate a population to something before the Stone Age. Humanity had no choice but to sign the so-called Citadel Conventions; crippling their Military, neutering their economy, and practically stealing the Mars Archives right before their very eyes. Galactic civilization was just as good as the old sci-fi vids said; a bunch of aliens looking to blast humanity into submission and exploiting everything that they had.

Then Ahern met a hard-bitten mercenary by the name of John Martin Harper.

Cerberus had started small; mostly veterans of Shanxi who had been horribly appalled by what had happened to their government. The Alliance couldn't publicly fight back, and the Alliance Parliament was rightfully frightened of the Counsel's wrath. So with a membership in the hundreds, the newly-formed Committee had begun a shadow war against the Counsel; to find ways of uplifting humanity while undermining any alliances and goodwill the aliens had with one another. He had been an original Committee member, along with twelve others, men and women who were fighters and thinkers, who knew the cost of such actions but did them anyhow. There had been debates and arguments over some of the operations and projects that had been put on the table, things that still gave him cold sweats. Yet despite that, he had been proud to serve as a spear of humanity, to strike at their foes from the shadows while defending humanity in secret. The Counsel, of course, had learn of Cerberus within a few years, labeling them a terrorist organization for their acts of assassinations, bombings, espionage, embezzlement, and sabotage. What they hadn't known was that the Committee had employed equally disenfranchised aliens who saw the same things that the Committee did; the Counsel was, in effect, Overlords. Turian Seperatists, Volus Tribalists, Asari Confederates, Salarian Lystheni Clan, Quarian Exiles... Cerberus had a vision where the obvious power play of the Citadel had been tipped more towards a balance; either by elevating the Alliance and others to a more equal position, or destabilizing the Citadel Government where the common citizenry of Citadel Space actioned a period of turmoil and change.

For ten years, the shadow war Cerberus had waged had been quite successful. But like all good things, there came the beginning of the end.

For Ahern, the death knell of Cerberus had been the change of leadership, as more members were included from less-than-savory political arenas. That the common operative being a xenophobe and an ignorant jackass was almost a given, but finding higher level members who scorned the use of aliens to steal tech and methods from the various other governments had led to a coup. Harper had been voted out by the Committee, brand-new faces that had won their seats through blackmail, extortion, poison, and outright murder. Ahren himself had been the last original member besides Harper and Admiral Drescher, but their three votes against the other ten weren't enough as armed operatives escorted the last three original members out. Karastaine Drescher had passed away broken-hearted a few years later, while Ahern found himself stripped of his Committee membership, kept on as he was an Admiral of Third Fleet at the time, too important to just toss away. As for John Martin Harper, he went into seclusion, disappearing from sight, keeping in contact with some of the original Cerberus members who kept faith with the original ideals of the organization, finding themselves serving a 'Corporation' that seemed more and more about making money off of subverted science, ghastly experiments, and foul operations that made him want to puke his guts out.

Operation Viking had been one of them.

Tadius Ahern looked at the operation, now thirteen years old, disgusted at what he saw. He had been there after the operation, cleaning up after the mess that the Alliance had no idea about. They had thought it some random attack, some random raid. Ousted from the Committee for using aliens to get ahead, and the Corporation he found himself tied to using aliens... to attack humans. The thought disgusted him, as did the pictures and the results of Operation Viking. The worst of it was that he was a high enough level in the Corporation to see the minutes of the meeting pertaining to the decision, which had been unanimous. The whole point of the operation had been to scare humans throughout the Alliance into purchasing more shares in Hadne-Keder, in which the Corporation held a large investment with; anonymously, of course. Scared humans bought weapons, bought into defense-related equipment, shelled money to upgrade colonial defenses... all in which the Corporation had their fingers in those pies. The venture of Operation Viking earned the Corporation billions in legitimate credits, as well as a way to exploit the Alliance into buying into some defense contracts that were Corporate Projects; sickening experiments in which human beings were the test subjects to see their effectiveness. When Cerberus had done it, they had used alien mercenaries that no one would miss to see how effective it would be on their natural enemies. The Corporation used human colonists for the same reason... except humans weren't naturally plated, biotic, had regeneration, or any of the other alien traits. Who was to say what kind of nerve gas would be effective on an Asari unless one tested it on an Asari? Using it on dozens of humans only proved it killed humans.

Operation Viking had been the last straw, for him.

He remembered the distress call, the cry for help as over eight hundred souls cried for salvation, reaved by the thing they feared most. That it happened was sickening, but that the Corporation made profit off of their lives was beyond that. He had gone to the colony, had gone to the ground, but they had been two days too late. Ahern had openly wept at the sight of a ghost colony, buildings that once held families, a school bereft of children, fields that would never be plowed again, life denied. He wasn't a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but the sight of that colony town had ripped the very heart out of him. He remembered collecting the very few survivors, the two dozen that there hadn't been room for on the alien ships. They had been shot and crippled, as a totem and a warning, ruining lives for no other reason other than they could.

The one that had affected him most was the sight of a teenage girl shot, raped and left for dead, surrounded by her murdered family... the same girl that had served under his command years later.

"Humanity's First SPECTRE." Ahern spoke to no one but himself, snorting at the thought. A human SPECTRE was almost as funny a joke as a Hanar Counselor, yet now there were _two_ SPECTRE candidates. Either the Counsel was taking humanity seriously, or they were going to give a branch out and snatch it back at the last second, letting the idea die with a laugh. Ahern almost wished that would be the case; the Alliance had already given too much to the Goddamn Counsel. Yet the thought of a human SPECTRE... was that not what Jack would have wanted? To bring a balance? To either stand up tall or knock their enemies down? Meer was a complete waste of DNA, a product of the Corporation that had gone too many steps in the wrong. Operation Facsimile was a joke, to boost some Operative as a Hero of Humanity, and somehow it had been Meer that had been selected. Now the little cocksucker flew about Alliance Space like some kind of trained circus monkey, shaking his ass for the crowds like he had done something to deserve it. Now Shepard, on the other hand...

Shaking his head, Ahern returned to the task at hand.

He pulled all the files relating to Operations Viking and Facsimile, and loaded them into an OSD, sliding the disk into his consoles' port. The information was copied onto the disk, in which he pulled out, looking at the OSD that laid in between his fingers, pondering it for a moment. With this single disk, he could destroy lives. A lot of fucking lives. The Corporation would be over within a week if he sent it to the right person. He thought about Grissom, the Old Man always had a hard-on against Cerberus. His fault, really, trying to recruit the man all those years ago. Fleet Master Jon Grissom would fall upon the Corporation like the fucking Fist of God, obliterating everything until he was convinced there wasn't two _atoms_ standing together, especially with what they did to his daughter, Kahlee. Unfortunately, the Old Man spent half his time fighting off Parliament's stupidity, the other half of his time trying to pull the Admiralty Board's head out of their collective asses, and probably three times as much time mired in bullshit the Corporation put up to keep him too busy to go on a Goddamn witch hunt for 'Cerberus'. The Corporation didn't even try to oust him, knowing that the Old Man was pushing eighty; time was on their side. Sending the OSD to Grissom would have the Old Man blank-slating his itenerary for the next decade as he restarted the Spanish Inquisition for Cerberus members. Aherns' own head would be on the chopping block, but he was okay with that. He made his choice, and he'd take his due punishment like a man. There'd be old-school Cerberus members who would take the fall as well, good men and women who really did have humanity's interest in mind. That saddened him, as they were old friends, but they, like him, knew the concenquences.

He surprised himself by pulling out another blank OSD.

 _Grissom, you once told me that there was one person in all the galaxy you would trust with your Goddamn crusade for humanity._ Ahern thought to himself sadly, the Old Man telling him a secret despite the fact that Grissom knew Ahern was a member of Cerberus. _Heaven forgive me, but you were right. I wouldn't trust anyone else with this but her. God help us all._

The second OSD went into the terminal and began loading everything from his terminal on Cerberus and the Corporation as Ahern wrote Grissoms' name on the first disk, the one only loaded with Operations Viking and Facsimilie. God only knew what the Old Man would think of it, but he would undoubtedly guess where it had come from. His monitor chirped as the second one was finished burning, the relevant data downloaded onto the disk as he laid it upon the desk, took a marker, and wrote to whom it would go to. He snorted as he finished writing those seven words that would undoubtedly spell the doom for Cerberus, the Corporation, investors, supporters, and probably tens of thousands of others that were connected or involved. Grissom might not have enough time for a witch hunt, but Grissom wasn't the only human being on a righteous fucking crusade. He looked at the words, wondering how she would feel once she reviewed the content of the disk. Would she go to the Counsel? Parliament? The Admiralty Board? If Ahern had to guess, then he would pick that she would go for a shotgun and start cleaning house. If the media reviled her before, God knew what they would think of her after that particular bloodbath. Her nickname would fit well as she would go through Corporate like a Goddamn hot knife through butter. And he wouldn't blame her. Not after she discovered that they were responsible for everything she had ever suffered. Why send one crusader when you could have two for twice the price? It wasn't like they could bring back the dead and kill them again, after all. Especially once the Daughter of Mindoir got ahold of them all.

 _Humanity's First SPECTRE,_ the disk read, _don't fucking disappoint me._

* * *

A/N: Operation Viking is indeed a Corporation-backed Operation. If you're thinking 'Mindoir', you'd be in the right. Don't worry, True Believers, it gets worse!

Operation Facsimile is also a Corporation-backed Operation. If you're thinking 'Akuze' and 'Fake', you'd be in the right. Don't worry, it gets worse.


	14. Hale: Meeting

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Hale, Meeting**

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 24, 2183, 1723 Pinnacle

It had been just over a year since Major Jennifer Hale had been to this office.

After Torfan, Hale had been assigned to Admiral Tadius Ahern's TRU, earning her Major and being in charge of a battalion of Marines. With the help of the TRU, she had launched campaigns against pirates, slavers, smugglers, and terrorists throughout Alliance Space, and deep into the Attican Traverse. She had led men on excursions numbering on thirty different planets, twelve moons, seven outposts, nine ships, and two different space stations. Her two-year stint with the TRU put her at the tip of the spear, and with its 'deploy anywhere, anytime' mentality, Hale kept her unit well-trained and quite busy. Many she had served under had been recommended for awards and commendations, and there were quite a few Marines in the Alliance that had reputations built because of her and her high-battle tempo. It surprised her to hear that the 2nd TRU Battalion was still known as 'the Butcher's Battalion', and it seemed to her that the motto was seen in a good light. Who knew?

Jen hit the signal button by the door she wanted to enter through, hearing the chime as the camera clicked on.

The door slid open, and the N7 Marine walked into the office of Admiral Tadius Ahern, who was reading something on a datapad, not looking up from his work. Jen knew better than to interrupt him; he would acknowledge her in his own time. She stood at parade rest in front of his desk, politely pretending not to look at him as he worked for another minute reading through whatever he was doing, finally setting down the datapad on his desk with a sigh, and looking up to her with his hard, brown eyes.

"Seems you've moved up in the world since we've last met, Jen."

"Not by choice, sir." Jen replied honestly, making Ahern give off a bark of a laugh, his craggy features softening just an iota. "Went to that Board blind, and found myself chosen for a job I didn't even know they were interviewing for. Whoops."

"Well, in my mind, you're the right kind of people for it." The Old Man replied, nodding his head. "You're not some political cocksucker or gloryhound interested in slapping your name onto every piece of smutty tabloid from the Voyager Cluster to the Minos Wasteland. You're a Marine with a job and a duty, and you've always stayed true to it and your own conscious. Not many can say that, Jen."

"That's probably why the Fleet Master had me on the Board, Admiral." Hale shrugged indifferently. "I still think Lieutenant Colonel Carter and Lieutenant Commander Fonzarelli would have made good choices, too. Fonzarelli's got a hard-on for piracy, and is a hell of a Navy Commander. Samson's a powerhouse of a biotic; how she didn't get it is beyond me."

"Allegations of Cerberus ties, unfortunately." Ahern replied sadly, shaking his head. "That came to me as a shock."

"Sir, that's bullshit!" Jen vocally disagreed, feeling floored by the revelation. "Sara's got a fucking Asari girlfriend! How the hell is that pro-humanity?" The Old Man looked at her oddly for a second, but then smiled.

"Go figure. Ask the Office of Naval Intelligence for something, and they'll predict clear skies as the rain hits your head." Ahern shook his head. "Ask a human's allegiance, and all you need to do is find a woman and ask her intuition. I'll forward that tidbit to Grissom and his staff. I'm sure Colonel Carter wouldn't mind having a few accusations in her favor. You don't mind having your name tagged on that, do you?"

"Pfft. Not… at… all." The N7 replied, completely deadpanned. "I'm sure all it takes is a quick look through her SpaceBook page to see her and… whatshername… Laora? Smooching and being couple-y. Far as I'm aware, they've been dating for something like four years. I know about it because we tried double-dating on Terra Nova about a year or so back, and that Asari looked like she was practically ready to start popping out babies for Samson. If Carter was Cerberus, don't you think the blue alien chick would know with all the mindsex and melding and whatever else the Thessians call it? Just a thought."

"Hmm. Laora… here it is." Ahern had turned on his workstation, and had indeed opened up to the social extranet site SpaceBook, bringing up Lieutenant Colonel Sara Carter's SpaceBook page. "Layora of Clan Killi, born on Thessia about a hundred and fifty years ago." The Admiral brought up a photo, and snorted. "Jesus, if Samson stuck her tongue any further in that girl's mouth, she'd be tickling her diaphragm." That had the Marine stifle a laugh. "I'll forward this to ONI as well. Surprisingly, damn intellicunts can neither confirm nor deny the existence of SpaceBook. Sometimes I wonder why we don't just hire out some ten-credit snitch with Red Sand addiction for all the good the fucking Military Intelligence community does for us."

"Give the ten-credit snitch some credit, sir; at least he's too fucked up to tell what time of day it is." Hale delivered with perfect sobriety, making the Old Man chuckle. "As much as I would love to bash ONI as they so rightfully deserve, you did call me here for a reason."

"I did, and you're right, we should return to business." The Admiral turned off his workstation, focusing his attention on the Major. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when someone would make the idea of a human SPECTRE _not_ a joke, but now we've got two candidates running around. While I'm not pleased with the idea of sending off some of humanity's finest to the whims of the fucking Counsel, sooner or later, someone's going to have to step up to the plate. Someone that humanity can stand behind."

"Meer." Jen replied, trying not to sound too disgusted.

"No, not Meer. _You_." Ahern corrected her, taking Hale aback. "Grissom was right in putting your name on the list for the Board, and he was right in giving you your chance. Of all the potential candidates there, you were the only one to graduate at the top of your OCS, graduate at the top of your N Course, the only one to have the Order of Luna, the only one who was an N7, and you've practically done more than all of them put together. That wasn't a competition, Jen; if it had been a wrestling match, you would have been some beefcake motherfucker forced to face five year olds with asthma. Carter and Fonzarelli aren't bad candidates, that I'll grant you, but none of them hold a candle to you."

"But…" Major Jennifer Hale shook her head slowly, unable to see what he was talking about. Ahern offered for her to sit, and Jen took it, grabbing one of the nearby chairs and using it, rubbing her hands together nervously. "Sir, I know that I bust my ass to work harder and be better. I didn't get those accomplishments just through talent, but with work and skill. The reason I'm so good is because… it's personal, Admiral. I hope that through my actions, I can prevent another Mindoir, another Elysium, another Korvan. I don't care that it's thankless, or that a success will never go noticed because I scare the shit out of the scumbags. I don't care _too_ much about the bad press or bad publicity, how the media views me as some jumped-up murderous cretin. All I care about is through my actions, the perpetrators are stopped, the victims are rescued, and that it will be one less group to do something like that from ever happening. Keep doing that enough times, and perhaps I can make slavery unprofitable."

"It certainly hasn't made the slugs any brighter, has it?" Ahern chuckled darkly. "I always had your back when you were in the 2nd TRU, when you found drops in data requests out there in Alliance Space, thinking it to be a blackout of communication for a pirate hit or a slave raid. Hell, even if you were wrong, which you rarely were, I saw you as a Marine doing her Goddamn job; protecting our people. So the press and the politicians like to call you the Butcher and shit on your good name. _Fuck_ … _them_. They've never seen the horrors of war, or the heart-wrenching sight of a depopulated colony hit by slavers. Did you know that I was on Mindoir afterwards?"

"I… did not." The Marine admitted, thinking how this was relevant. She had worked with Admiral Ahern for two years, and he brings this up now?

"After the SSV _Einstein_ came in for the initial survivors, the SSV _Denali_ arrived for… well, picking up the Goddamn pieces." The Old Man sighed, slumping back in his chair, looking all of his fifty-nine years. "A ghost town is what I found. What should have been a place crawling with kids and families, all I saw were ghosts and echoes. Not even in the depths of the First Contact War had I seen a more despairing sight, Jen; at least the Turians fought us, and we fought back. That colony? What was its name? Glendale?"

"Palmdale." Hale whispered, finding her breathing coming in a little faster than usual. She didn't bring up Mindoir that much. Usually only with Hannah and Jannie. And even then, rarely.

"Did a Search and Rescue operation through that town, Jen; 87 homesteads, 39 town buildings, and an honest-to-goodness wooden fucking barn. Know how many survivors were found? Of course you do, why am I asking?" The Admiral had forgotten that Jen indeed know how many survived the attack; fourteen. "I found this one boy, couldn't have been older than five… both legs blown off. Just a Goddamn kid that never stood a chance. Watched his parents, brother, and sister get taken, but for some reason, they felt the need to cripple him for life. Fuckers."

"It was because they met their quota." Jen replied, her tone of voice dead, knowing exactly what it was that Ahren was describing. "Whatever shuttle or aircraft they were using was filled up, and they had no more room, and a five year old isn't very useful. Why they didn't kill him was because it doesn't waste any resources or manpower; you saw a hurt kid, and you used your time and your medical supplies to help him, as oppose to tearing ass to hunt the fuckers down." The N7's right hand absently went to a spot on her chest right next to her heart, where she herself had been shot. "They always like a few left alive to spread the tale."

"That what happened to you?"

"Yes, but… more." Jen had to shut her eyes, had to fight off the memories she had spent years trying to deal with, that never left her. "A child or a girl in need will always bring men to their aid. Batarians may be a lot of things, but cruel is definitely their monopoly. They are the masters of psychological warfare. Especially terror."

"That they are." The Old Man intoned quietly, and she could hear the sympathy in his voice. Anyone else, and she would have had a sharp retort, but she easily remembered that this was the man who led the Legacy Team, the most successful unit during the FCW. He had seen the worst horrors that war could bring, and yet kept driving himself to succeed by teaching Alliance Officers and enlisted members to be better, to prove themselves. If she lived to see sixty, Hale could definitely see herself being just like Admiral Tadius Ahern. The Marine knew that Ahern understood what she had experienced on Mindoir, what she had suffered, without being told. If he had been there on a Search and Rescue, then he saw what had happened to some of the others. Despite being raped by several Batarians and others and shot four times, Jennifer Hale knew she wasn't the worst off of all the survivors. Of the fourteen survivors of Mindoir, she was the only that could join the Alliance military, the others having been crippled physically or emotionally. That five year old boy that Ahern spoke of… Hale knew him. His name was Daniel Bragg, and he was an eighteen year old man now, set to graduate High School in a couple of months on Elysium. Whenever she successfully raided a slaver base or a camp, whenever she rescued slaves, she always forwarded the results to the rest of the original Mindoir survivors, the eight of them that hadn't committed suicide yet. They returned her e-mails with encouragement and support, a surrogate family she never got to see. In truth, she didn't want to; to see their crippled bodies, survivors who had lost more than she… it was a pain she couldn't take. Bad enough her own fucked-up life. She couldn't stand the thought of looking at the ones with broken spines or missing limbs while she still possessed the ability to walk and do something.

Hale reminded herself to make sure to send an appropriate gift for Daniel for his upcoming graduation.

"Admiral, do you think… do you think I'm doing the right thing? Accepting the SPECTRE candidacy?" The N7 asked, her voice cracking slightly. "I mean… if I succeed and I'm accepted by the Counsel, I'm going to be the first SPECTRE for the human race. All eyes are going to be on me… every move, every action, every word. I just… worry if I'm the right choice. Will I be a George Washington, or a Julius Caesar? Will I be a Chesty Puller, or a Ghengis Khan?"

"Jen…" Ahern sighed, rubbing one of this thick hands over the stubble of his grey hair, looking slightly uncomfortable for a moment before focusing back on her. "There are probably about 25 Marines and sailors that I think are worth a tin shit, and you are one of them. Don't think I'm just blowing sunshine up your skirt, 'cuz I'm not. Most of the Admirals and Generals in the Alliance are barely processed dog food when it comes to their job, either having done the time or knowing the right people to have gotten to their positions. Get in a war, and you'll find most of them are clueless cowards who are too weak or pathetic to lead us properly. Just as it's always happened in human history with every war we've ever fought." Hale shifted a little in her seat, the conversation going in a direction she hadn't expected. "There was this guy, about three hundred years back during the American Civil War, called Little Mac. General McClellen was brilliant on paper, but too cautious and insecure out on the field. Now I'm a man who appreciates an Officer who does think of the lives of his men as he's leading them into battle, but _it is_ battle. There will be gunfire, explosions, and death. The Hand of God will not drape around your unit and shield it from the worst. I've seen too many an Officer, both Navy and Marine, that do not have the guts to even make a bad call in fear of making a wrong decision. I don't know what they teach you fuckers in Annapolis nowadays, but someone needs to remove the stick out of the instructor's asses and start drilling into cadets that in war, there will be losses. It's your job to minimize yours while expediting the enemy's."

"I'm going to have to remember that line." Hale smiled, making the Old Man snort.

"When push comes to shove," Ahern continued, "there are two types of people; the fuckers that whine every time and blame everyone else, and the ones who muscle through the shit and get whatever is needed done. Hale, you are most definitely in the second category, and probably one of the best examples of it that I've seen in my lifetime. You aren't some sheep who just follows orders, you don't fold with pressure, and unlike most of the fucking Officers in the Navy and Marines, you lead from the front, not from a Goddamn hackable Omnitool that so easy to disrupt during operations." The Old Man finished with disgust. "There are a few I think would do well as a SPECTRE, and you are one of them. But I'm not saying that because you are a warrior, but because you are a _leader_. The N course taught you how to lead men and accomplish the mission, no matter how difficult the circumstances. What was your 'box' in the N3 course?"

"Cockroach-infested pit." Hale replied softly, making the Admiral grimace.

"Ugh. I was locked in a lightless coffin, surrounded by the screams of the dying. Didn't make it." Ahern shook his head, shivering slightly. There were a good many that didn't pass the N3 course; conquering fear. "The point is that you've never been a failure in anything, Jen. And I'm not worried about you becoming some power-hungry psycho or blood-thirsty murderer. You'll do more than fine, Jen, if only because you can't stand the fact of doing anything less than your best. For most, I would call that hypocritical bullshit when I hear it, but from you, it's a statement of intent."

"I… thank you." Jen sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck, a little uncomfortable with the praise from one of the gruffest men she had ever met. "It's just… it's a lot to take in, Admiral. It honestly scares me."

"Good. It should, and I'd be worried if it didn't." Ahern gave of another small smile. "Now get the fuck out of my office so I can get plastered while you proceed to drink all the alcohol on my tub in the Cantina. Just try not to get too drunk where you think you can dance on a table."

"Jesus fucking Christ, get rip-roaring drunk just _one_ time…" Hale sighed.

* * *

Despite the advice from Admiral Ahren to hit the Cantina, Major Jennifer Hale had other plans in mind. She traveled to the lower decks of Pinnacle Station, passing by all the work necks, dock deck, and even the crew deck, heading towards the 'Refit' Deck that was near the bottom of the station, the elevator almost as slow as the one aboard the _Normandy_ , it seemed. Jen hummed a little tune as the elevator slid down its tube, finding the conveyance populated by several members of the Alliance at various times, a few getting on or off as they passed through the many levels of Pinnacle Station. Ahern's office had been near the top, where the Bridge was located, and the Refit Deck was at the other end of the station's vertical axis. The elevator went slowly enough that Hale considered popping out of it and just taking the damn stairs; it wasn't like thirty or forty flights downward were going to kill her. Jen mused on that for a second, smiling to herself as she continued to hum and jammed her hands into the cargo pocket of her black N7 hoodie, the hood resting comfortably over her brown hair. The hoodie always drew out the stares as sailors and Marines would get onto the elevator, and their eyes would draw in on her. Most probably knew who she was on sight; she was one of seven women to have ever earned the illustrious 'N7' designation, and the scar that ran diagonally down her face was rather identifying. One young Marine, a Private who looked to have an Elysium tan on him, had stared at her for a good five seconds before looking away shyly, and then gave her an apologetic smile. She almost scoffed out loud as she watched the Private stand up with his chest thrusted out, obviously trying to catch her eye in _that_ way. She shook her head at him, but gave him a sympathetic smile, at least letting him know she appreciated the attempt. The Private, whose name tag read 'Marks', merely shrugged his shoulders and got off after a few levels.

It was nice to be appreciated, at least.

The elevator finally stopped at the 'Refit' Deck, where the Pinnacle Cantina, the Rec Center, and the station's Vid theater were all located, along with a small market center for peruse and purchases. Pinnacle held a fairly significant civilian population, most in transit, but a few were family members of those serving upon the station, MOD civilians, and those who ran the 'Refit' Deck. Of the ten-or-so thousand that lived on Pinnacle on a permanent basis, approximately two-to-three hundred weren't military at all, not to include the three hundred spouses and four-to-five hundred children that also called the station home. Pinnacle possessed not only a shopping center that was worth a chuckle, but a series of schools, a Z-ball court, and even a holodeck that usually came with a nice, long wait list.

Yet the most impressive thing about Pinnacle Station was the Combat Simulation Arena, where squadrons would train its sailors and Marines in realistic battles, in space, air, and land. If an Admiral wanted his Dreadnought crew to pit itself against another Dreadnought without starting a war, the CSA would make everything appear to be their Dreadnought, and then make an enemy Dreadnought for them to fight. For Marines, it would create a realistic battlefield and populate it with enemies that were surprisingly well-versed with many tactics seen in the galaxy. The CSA was one of the Alliance's crowning achievements, based off an old science fiction television show from back in the mid-20th. Every military in Counsel Space wanted to use it, and Hale remembered the amount of visiting SPECTREs, Blackwatch Talons, Hunting parties, STG Infiltration units, and N's coming on station for a day visit for the use of the CSA. She herself had used the CSA probably three-dozen times, usually at some team's request. Her 2nd TRU Battalion had ran it four times, all with the same scenario; Torfan. Surprisingly, the men in her command _wanted_ to prove themselves in the largest action ever taken against the slavers of Khar'shan.

As far as she was aware, nobody had made it out 'alive' of the simulation after the Batarians started running suicide squads.

The elevator finally reached the 'Refit' Deck, the conveyance populated with about twenty people when they all began to file out, Jen among them. Most of the riders from the elevator went straight to the first left that led towards the Pinnacle Cantina, which Hale walked right on by. She'd probably get a drink later, a nice scotch to end the day, but for now, she had an appointment to keep. Her destination was at the end of the corridor, where the Companion Loft was. It had been a long time since she had been there, and she was surprised that Taraya had an available slot for her so soon. Hale walked into the Loft… and right into Saren Arterius, who looked at her with some surprise, his mandibles jiggling slightly with embarrassment.

"Yep, this is… awkward." Jen admitted, rubbing at the back of her neck as the Turian SPECTRE stood with his arms folded in front of him, standing with a hip cocked; it was such a feminine pose, but for the Turians, it was a stance that meant that they were uncomfortable. "I won't tell if you won't tell."

"Fair enough, Major." Saren replied, a little amused. "Enjoy yourself."

"Ha! Nothing like that, but I will." The N7 promised as she glided by the Turian, the SPECTRE lumbering away from the Loft as she went to the front desk, where a blonde human woman acted as the concierge. "I have an appointment with Taraya S'anna at 1900? I'm… a little early." Jen checked her Omnitool's chronometer, and saw that she was about 20 minutes early.

"No worries, Major." The concierge smiled, checking the appointment list on her work station, flipping through the screen. "Mistress S'anna just finished up with a client, and… oh! It says here that you can come in as soon as you arrived!" The blonde concierge looked up from her work station and gave her a sweet smile, obviously being more than just polite. "And… thank you for Tovosk. I heard on the news you rescued more people. My cousin was one of the ones you pulled off a slave base about two years back, and I always follow your exploits."

"Well, um… thanks?" Jen found herself embarrassed, as she always did whenever she ran into a family member of someone she had saved from slavery. She never really thought about the families all that much; too heartbreaking, too close to the heart. Still, it was good to know that there were people who appreciated her efforts. "I'm glad I was able to get your cousin out. Too many haven't."

"I know." The blonde woman's face was saddened for a moment, her cute face shadowed with the evils of the galaxy. "Still, it's good to know that there are those who are willing to risk their lives to save others, Major Hale. I know my cousin Michelle appreciates it as much as I." Jen was a little surprised when the woman's hand went onto her forearm, touching it in a way that was a little more than just friendly. "I get off at 2100, and I would like to buy you a drink, Major. My treat." The concierge told her, the woman's voice dropping a little, her voice going slightly husky. _Shit, she_ is _hitting on me…_

"I… wouldn't mind some company." Jen admitted, making the woman smile, her face glowing. "I'll see you at 2100 then…"

"Oh! I'm Mallory!" The woman giggled slightly, covering her mouth quickly with her hand. "Sorry, I'm use to everyone knowing my name here! I'll let you get to your appointment, Major. I'm looking forward to seeing you later."

"Yeah." The N7 finished lamely, not knowing what to say. She was in a Companion's Loft to see an Asari, and the concierge wanted to buy her drinks afterwards? Could things get more muddled? Jen did her best to give Mallory a smile as she sauntered away from the concierge, walking towards the room where her appointment was set. The door that led there was no automatic door, but an old-fashioned on that opened by grabbing onto the brass handle and pulling it open. The door was covered with a soft red velvet-like fabric, and when the Marine opened it, found herself walking into a luxurious room decorated to the taste of comfort and refinement.

She had walked into the lair of the Companion Taraya S'anna.

"Jennifer! It has been too long!" An Asari Matron stood from her plush ottoman, smoothing out the light blue toga that she wore that kept her body decent while suggesting the figure underneath, giving the Asari a touch of class and refinement over others. The Companion approached the Major with a smile, and pulled her into a familiar, friendly embrace that Jen returned a little awkwardly, feeling the Asari's body pressing into her own. Taraya pulled away, still holding onto Jen as the Companion gave their bodies a little more space in between them, the Asari's cerulean lips smiling at her. "When I saw your name come up seeking an appointment, I was both relieved and happy to see it. I, thankfully, had an extended opening that I reserved you for. Tea? I have some Irish Breakfast made."

"Tea sounds amazing." Jen couldn't help but smile; even after three years since the N7 gotten orders that took her away from Pinnacle Station, the Companion still remembered what Major Hale's favorite tea was. The Companion gestured for Jen to sit in the silk-embroidered lounge chair that was in the middle of the room, placed in front of a marble coffee table. A stuffed pillow made of a smooth fabric she didn't recognize was moved out of the way as Jen sat in the lounge chair, and after a moment, she laid on it properly, the slope of the arm giving her an elevation that would have her half-sitting, half-resting. It had been a few years since she had sat on that very couch, yet the ease in which she found a comfortable position was muscle memory, and she felt herself truly relaxing. The Matron returned with a silvered tray with two china cups sitting on top, with a teapot in between them, steam waifing from its spout. The smell of Irish Breakfast tea brought back memories for the Marine as Taraya sat on a nearby ottoman, setting the silvered tray onto the marble coffee table. The Matron picked up the teapot and poured into each china cup two-thirds full of the black tea, the Asari Companion handing a cup on a teaplate to the Major, who thanked the blue Thessian as she took the plate and cup. Jen held off sipping at the tea until Taraya had her own, the two of them sharing the first taste together, and it was as good as Hale remembered it; just enough sweetness to stave off the natural bitterness of the tea leaves. As always, the tea reminded her of home; her father always had a cup of Irish Breakfast in the morning with his eggs and toast, and the smell reminded her of Patrick Hale. "How have you been, Matron S'anna?"

"I have been quite well, thank you." The Asari smiled, her voice light and gentle, knowing what it was that Major Jennifer Hale wanted. "You are still, by far, the most unique client that I have visit me. And I am still touched by it. So few ever want to remember. I must admit, your species can confuse me at times. 'Those who focus on the past will miss out on the future' and 'those who forget history are doomed to repeat it' are both wonderful sayings from your kind, but when one puts them together…"

"Ha! Yeah, we can be a little confusing, can we?" Hale had to chuckle at that, marveling once more how unique alien cultures were. What was so obvious to the native species could only be described as confounding to any other. Even the Asari, who were more likely to understand one of another species and lived for so long, professed to only grasping bare hints at what made a species. "I… do want to ask you something, Taraya. Something personal. Something… confidential." The Matron took a sip of her tea, her forehead raising up slightly in the same motion of a raised eyebrow if the Asari had possessed any. "Something big has come up for me. Something important. Everyone else tells me that it's a good thing, and that I'm ready. I just… I just have my doubts. I don't want to screw this up."

"Jennifer, we've known each other for a few short years," the Companion spoke, and Hale had to chuckle at the thought of _a few short years_ , "but in that time, I believe I've come to know you well. You don't fear failure, you fear disappointment. Of all the creatures in the galaxy, there are only four whom you value when it comes to a matter of opinion. It is regrettable that those four are no long available for you to ask, to seek solstice, to be comforted by. That is why we call them 'family', why we place so much value on them. Of all those whom you've asked, whose opinions you've heard, they were not the ones that truly mattered to you. Which is why you continue to doubt yourself."

"I… guess you're right. I never thought about it like that before." Jen sighed, taking another sip of her tea, the aroma bringing back the memories of mornings on the farm, of her father's leathery hands and her mothers' cooking. "It's just… I want to know that I'm doing the right thing, that… they're proud of me." She had to fight off tears, and she felt ashamed of them.

"Jennifer, I am a mother myself to two daughters, and I know I would be proud of you and your accomplishments if you were my own." Taraya replied gently, placing both of their teacups down and taking the Major's hands into her own. "Few in this galaxy are so willing to do something against what is so apparently prevalent and unstoppable. The Counsel itself tried to stop that abominable practice without any real results, yet you have driven slavers deep underground, pushing them back, reducing their numbers and destroying their profits. On top of that, you have made it your mission to rescue as many of the fettered as you can, to bring them back to their homes, to heal families and colonies. What parent could ask for more, for better? You, Jennifer Hale, have brought hope to those who have none, and fear to those who sow fear.

"In Asari legend," the Asari Matron continued, "we have a name for such a type of warrior, one who foregoes all save for weapons and armor, one who rights the wrongs that others may not be strong enough in body or character to defeat. These Asari are known as the Justicar, warrior-monks who followed a strict Code of Conduct that was tailored to the preservation of our society, by presence or violence. They would do anything to save the innocent, even that of a simple farmer, no matter the odds. When a criminal existed, they would prosecute them, and were even allowed to be judge, jury, and executioner. They stayed apolitical, as their Code decreed that they would protect the state, but there have been incidents of House Matriarchs who were judged by the Justicars for illegal actions and criminality. In many ways, I see many similarities in you, Jennifer; a defender of the good, and a punisher of evil. And your actions shine beyond you. Do you not enjoy the support of your military in the highest levels? Do your soldiers not serve you out of loyalty instead of duty? Does the sound of your name not send so many criminals scurrying for the nearest exist?" That had the Marine snort, but she knew it to be true. "You, my child, are a force of good, a weapon of righteousness, a symbol of hope. For those who muddy your name, they either do not deserve your trust, or they truly wish to be somewhere else when you arrive in the room in the name of self-preservation."

"Oh, Heaven forbid if Khalish Bint Sinan Al-Jilani from Westerlund News were ever to walk into the same room as me. Or planet." Jen grinned, her tone amused at the thought of meeting the female reporter that coined the term 'Butcher of Torfan'. "I guess… it is like what someone told me earlier; if I can still doubt myself, then I'm probably doing the right thing. I just… wish I could be assured."

"Which is why you are here; I understand perfectly, Jennifer." Taraya smiled, letting go of Hale's hands, smoothing out her toga. Jen nodded, lying back on the lounge chair, getting into a comfortable laying position as Matron Taraya S'anna sat on the lounge chair next to her, the warmth of the Asari's body touching her hip as Hale watched the Companion smile at her. Sapphire-colored hands slid up to the Marines' face, the Asari's first two fingers touching her temples lightly as Jen became aware once more that a Thessian didn't possess skin like a human, but very fine scale like that of a fish or an amphibian. She could feel the difference in Taraya's fingers as the Companion's face moved closer to her own, staring into her blue eyes as the Matron's own sky-blue orbs grew inky black, all colored swallowed away as those depthless eyes looked into her own.

"Relax, Major, and embrace what you wish for most," the Companion told her has Hale felt herself slowly slipping away, "become one with your soul. Cling to that which you desire most, and slip beneath the waves of this world…" Major Jennifer Hale felt consciousness and perception disappear before her eyes as the Asari's voice lulled her into a comforting darkness, as safe and as warm as a blanket enveloping her…

… _And she found herself opening her eyes to the warmth of a Class G star upon a Garden World, the sweet smell of corn and wheat filling her nostrils as Jen found herself looking at a farmhouse, a wooden domicile built by many human hands without the aid of pre-fab or machinery. She slowly spun around herself, looking at the wooden fence posts that surrounded the boundaries of the croplands, the barn that loomed over the height of the house, the sound of chickens and roosters in their roost, and the breeze waifing through the rows of corn and wheat, the rustle of their stalks and leaves as they swayed filling the farm with their music. Jen looked down, seeing her booted feet on a dirt path that led to the farmhouse, not on the small flagstones that would keep her from tracking dirt into a house. She automatically stepped onto the nearest shale flagstone, looking to the farmhouse the stone pathway led to, and her face broke out into a smile. She started walking towards it, her feet going faster the closer she got as she went up the small flight of wooden stairs onto the large porch of the home. She looked at the several chairs that were set out on the porch, the potted plants liberally decorating the wooden railing of the porch as she took in the metal sign that was hanging from one of the beams of the roof, simple metal heated and banged into shape by caring hands until it read 'Hale Farmstead'._

" _Mama! Papa! Nate! I'm home!" Jennifer Hale, daughter of Mindoir, walked into the house to relive her memories…_

…As Matron Taraya S'anna sat next to her, watching the 28 year old human woman, saw tears beginning to pour down her closed eyes, her obsidian eyes watching at the Marine smile in her dreams.

"Enjoy your vacation with your family, Major." The Companion whispered with a melancholy tone.

* * *

A/N: For you non-Marine types, Lt. Gen. Lewis 'Chesty' Puller was the highest decorated Marine (like, five Navy Crosses and a Distinguished Service Cross, so six of the second-highest awards) who served in Haiti, Nicaragua, WWII, and Korea (he actually tried serving in WWI by dropping out of Annapolis and joining as a Private, but was sent too late). The man was notorious for fighting against vastly superior numbers and coming out on top, fighting rebels in Haiti, bandits in Nicaragua, training Chinese Marines in the thirties, and commanded the 1st Battalion of the 7th Marines (1st Mar) at the beginning of the Pacific Campaign in places like Guadalcanal, where he commanded a Marine Battalion and an Army Battalion (the 3/164th, I think) against a Japanese Regiment (so... 2,500 against about 500?) and moved down the Imperial Japanese, making them retreat (which, if you know anything about the Japanese Army, 'retreat' isn't in their vocabulary). He was one of those responsible for the victory of the Battle of Palau (the bloodiest battle in Marine history over a six square mile island that I've been told is a paradise). This can been seen in the miniseries The Pacific as well as the video game Call Of Duty, World At War. To this day, Chesty Puller is still venerated throughout the USMC as a near-deific patron of the Corps, at an equal status of Lieutenant Audie Murphy for the Infantry (the most decorated soldier of WWII, so probably forever) and Sergeant John Lannen (who is now immortalized for Calvarymen as the inspiration of Old Bill).

I mention (very shortly) that Pinnacle Station has a holodeck. This isn't the combat simulator that Ahren has you run, but an actual Holodeck, Star Trek style.

I strained my extremely etiquette skills for the workings of a Companion. Seriously, I had to look up on how to spell 'etiquette'. And it was really hard to _not_ call Taraya S'anna 'she' since… well, despite that they look female, are somehow not women. Because breasts and a womb make a not-woman? I also changed her speech patterns to where she doesn't use contractions (you know, _do not_ instead of _don't_ ) because the Asari think they're high and mighty while stripping at bars.

Writing about the mindmeld and whole 'embrace eternity' thing was a little difficult at first, so I made to where it's slightly akin to hypnotism. Hale doesn't even stay alert enough to hear those words _Embrace Eternity_ , so I did away with them.


	15. Arterius: Combat Simulation Arena

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

A/N: We's gots some actions goin's on! Finally, some shooting!

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Arterius, Combat Simulation Arena**

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 28, 2183, 0932 Pinnacle

" _Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Humans and creatures from other planets! Simulation will begin in t-minus one minute! Prepare yourself!_ " The voice of Admiral Tadius Ahern came over the intercom of the galaxy-renowned Combat Simulation Arena of Pinnacle Station. Like its cousin equivalent on the Citadel, the Armax Arsenal Arena, the Combat Simulation Arena was an immense space that was programmed to simulate battlefields of varying topography, filled with enemies of varying species, tactics, and difficult. Unlike the Armax Arena, the CSA was only available to military, defense contractors, and paramilitary organizations in good standing with the Counsel.

Saren Arterius stood in the CSA with his Turian SPECTRE partner, Nihlus Kryvik. Along with him were Major Jennifer Hale and Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer.

"Knowing Ahern, he probably set the fucking thing to 'worst case scenario', 'ugliest shithole in existence', 'brutal as fuck', and 'insane difficulty'." Hale coined, scoffing as she pulled her M-55 Argus off the hard point on her N7 Aldrin Labs Onyx Carrier Assembly (Heavy) Armor, each of them only allowed two weapons. Saren was amused to see that the Marine had gone with two assault rifles, the Turian Battle Rifle in her hand, and the N7-specific Typhoon Light Machine Gun on her back. Commander Meer stood in Aldrin Labs Onyx Interceptor Armor (Light), having already keyed up his Omnigel Armor Plating, coined 'Tech Armor' by the Human Marines and Sailors who relished the Alliance invention. Meer had a standard ERCS M-15 3rd-Gen Vindicator in his hands, supplemented with an Ariake Technology M-23 Katana shotgun on the hardpoint of his back. Saren wore his Jormangund Technology Medium Crisis Level 7 Armor, with his HMWAR VII assault rifle in his talons, a HMWSM VII submachine gun on his hip, while Nihlus Kryvik wore his Armax Arsenal Heavy Predator (H) Series 7th-line Armor, his own HMWAR VII rifle in his hands, along with a HMWSG VII shotgun clipped to his left thigh. The Turian had to admit that the firepower between the four of them was decimating; their armor alone would protect them from what most normal ground troops, mercenaries, pirates, slavers, and the general scum of the universe would be able to throw at them. If that didn't scare some bareface to cooperating, then the sight of their guns would have a Terminus Warlord rethink his position. This would mark the second time he would have a chance to work with elite human operatives, simulated or otherwise, and Saren was actually looking forward to the combat situation. Four days on Pinnacle Station, and he felt well-rested, well-fed, and his plates itched for some action, simulated or otherwise.

"Bring it on, I say." Nihlus popped the bolt release on his SPECTRE-Licensed battle rifle, grinning with his mandibles. "I'm going to thrash your ass-plates like a hatchling this time, Hale. I've spent twelve hours a day for the past four days abusing the _Normandy's_ holographic range. Finally beat your Krogan setting."

"I hear a bet coming on." The female Marine smiled with her horizontal mandibles, no… _lips_ , twitching upward. "Tell you what, SPECTRE. You win? I will personally bequeath to you my N7 Valkyrie Assault Rifle as a trophy."

"Holy shit." Meer muttered, making both Turians look at the Lieutenant Commander curiously. "That's… supposedly the best weapon ever created by a human! They only made… five?"

"Six." Hale confirmed, nodding. "It's sexy and it's glorious, and the only reason I don't use it in battle is because I don't want it getting hurt. Beat me, and you get the finest weapon to ever come off of Earth, each personally-made, custom-made death machines that God and Jesus Christ would love to have as their own. Carry that sucker, and every human in the Alliance knows you've earned it from the best. It's tagged biometrically just so everyone knows that you're the legitimate owner."

"Deal." Nihlus spat out with a grin, making Saren groaned. Spirits, the lunatic thought he stood a chance!

"Oh, but if I win?" The N7 Marine smiled, looking over to Saren with a wink as Admiral Ahern called out a thirty second warning. "I get to paint your armor. _Bright. Hot. Neon. Pink._ " Her human counterpart snorted, and then started to laugh out loud, throwing his head back as he roared with laughter, drawing the attention of both Turians. It was obvious that neither one of them got it.

"Pink is a girl color. Means you're her bitch." The Lieutenant Commander supplied, still chuckling. "Hell, now I can't wait to do this scenario just to see Nihlus walking around looking like some cotton candy stick." Saren chuckled himself as Nihlus' mandibles flared out in indignation. The Turian SPECTRE looked at his partner and just shook his head; what a way for him to shove his fringe into his _clochea_. Saren agreed with Meer; now he couldn't wait to see how this scenario turned out.

" _Need I remind you that betting is NOT allowed in the CSA… but this time I'll make an exception if only so I can see a pink Turian."_ Admiral Ahern's voice came over the intercom, their words obviously having made it to the control booth of the Combat Simulator. Nihlus didn't seem to enjoy becoming the source of everyones' enjoyment, but he had put it upon himself, Saren thought with a grin. Not that pink was a feminine color for a Turian, but if the Humans thought so… it would be good to see his friend's ego go through a little bit of humility.

" _Ten seconds. Free-for-all_."

"Oh, this should be good." Meer muttered, shouldering his Vindicator, his eyes sweeping around the room as the battlefield began to… grow, for the lack of a better term. Saren watched in amazement as the square kilometer of space around them began to create Omnigel structures at a surprising speed, buildings springing to life as 'land' holographic changed to that of something that looked to be farm fields, what looked to be crops growing in the distance as stone-and-wood buildings sprang to life, primitive and small. Definitely not Turian buildings; no checkpoints, chokepoints, bunkers, or security measures. They didn't look Asari or Salarian, either. Human structures, then. Simple ones, at that. Saren turned to ask his human team members if they knew of where the location was, and saw that Meer was staring at Hale. The N7 herself was pale, her skin having gone several shade lighter, and appeared to be leaking fluids… _sweat_ , he reminded himself. Her eyes were wide and wild, looking at everything at once, and he realized that she was in a panic.

" _Mindoir_." The Major breathed out, her voice shaking and uneven. "That motherfucker remade Mindoir. I'm going to fucking kill him." That explained her reaction.

Saren knew of the attack, and also remembered how the Alliance came too late, and the Counsel sent nobody to recover any of the kidnapped people. That had been back when the Batarians had an Ambassador on the Citadel, claiming misguided zealots and overeager patriots, all which had nothing to do with the Hegemony. Of course, with the very next breath, the Batarian Ambassador claimed that the Humans had probably deserved it, encroaching on Batarian space and claims. Mindoir had been in the Attican Traverse, where there was no legal Batarian space or claims. Video evidence and eyewitness accounts had the Ambassador of the Hegemony claiming that everything had been fabricated… to include the one slaver ship shot down by the colony's sole Ground-To-Space Defense Tower, filled with Batarain bodies, possessing Hegemony gear, and even with authentic orders that appeared to come from the Hegemony's Minister of Trade. No SPECTRE had been sent to the colony, though Saren knew of a STG unit that was ordered to view and verify the evidence. Everything the Alliance had said had been true, yet the Counsel had publicly told the Human government that the Counsel would deal with the repercussions. The Alliance had backed off under the threat of sanctions and trade tariffs… and the Counsel had done nothing to the Hegemony. Not one Turian patrol was sent to find the ships. Not one Asari hunting party went to collect any prisoners. No STG was released for infiltration strikes or shadow work. No Agent was dispatched to Batarian Space. Human lives were destroyed, and the perpetrators were let off the hook all in the name of galactic peace, on the overtures that the Alliance and the Hegemony were mere breaths from making war.

Seven more brutal attacks on Human colonies in the galaxy were conducted over a period of years afterwards, in which the Counsel kept the Alliance's hands tied, and the Hegemony was never retaliated against, neither militarily or politically. The Counsel had worked so hard to reign in the Alliance, and yet it had been the Batarians who had conducted the last act of war, now known as the the beginning of the Skyllian Blitz or the Assault on Elysium. The Turian SPECTRE could still remember the reports of tens of thousands of Batarians, along with hired mercs, died trying to attack the city of Bernard, Elysium, where the infamous 1st Lieutenant Jane Shepard rallied militia and civilians against Batarian forces, earning her name 'the Lion of Elysium'. The Batarian Ambassador had screamed for Shepard's head as she recovered from the battle, claiming that the Batarians were colonists, landing on the planet to 'place' their claim upon a planet that belonged to humanity before the Turians discovered them. Of course, the 'Batarian colonists' were also laden with military armor, military weapons, explosives, slave collars, cages, and nerve agents to keep a prisoner docile; all supposedly fabricated by the Alliance.

The Counsel had tried for the overtures of peace once more, but the Alliance wasn't buying it. Humans wanted blood, and Spirits knew Saren couldn't blame them.

" _Populating… now_."

Saren heard the sound of shrikes and booms coming from the sky, the tell-tale sign of ships entering atmo at a high-rate of speed as he looked up to the blue sky, and saw what appeared to be two dozen Corvette-Class ships entering the skies of Mindoir, falling like black leaves in the wind. They quickly grew larger as he heard Hale begin to hyperventilate, and he looked over to her, seeing her blue eyes wide and darting, looking at everything at once. She was unnerved, he could easily tell, and the Turian wondered just what the hell Ahern was trying to do.

"The school." Hale spoke, her voice shaky but clear. "It's a brick structure sitting in the middle of Palmdale. Good cover, good sectors of fire. We can make a stand there, draw their fire, provide defense from the roof."

"By turning us into bait?" Meer asked, his tone harsh as his snapped to the Major, glaring at her. "That'll draw them all towards us."

"Exactly."

"I like it. Let's do it." Saren replied with a nod. Spirits, Hale thought just like a Turian! It would be the exact same thing he would do if he had known the terrain like the Major did; find the best position to fire upon the enemy, with enough gall to funnel them into overlapping sectors of fire. Most would have shied from such a course as sitting in the middle of a firefight, but sometimes sacrificing oneself gave others a chance to escape. In the Turian's mind set, it wasn't only an acceptable risk, it was due process. Nihlus nodded his head in agreement as well while Lieutenant Commander Meer snorted, obviously not as impressed with the plan of action. Outvoted and knowing it, Meer merely moved as Major Jennifer Hale dashed towards a one-story brick building that did populate the middle of the colony, with little in the way of dead zones for the Batarians to take cover. The N7 reached the school with both Turians and the Lieutenant Commander right behind her as she turned and clasped her hand together to make an impromptu step. Saren took the proffered hands and stepped in them, feeling his one-hundred and fifty kilo mass being boosted enough from him to roll onto the roof of the school. Nihlus came next, and Meer last, both of them pulling out their rifles and scanning the approaching ships as Saren reached over and grabbed Hale's hand, helping her scamper up the side of the wall. Already the two dozen Corvette-Class ships were landing on the outskirts of town, and Saren felt his mandibles flare as he heard screams of citizenry from the various buildings as normal-looking Humans in simple clothing began bursting from the buildings, fleeing from the domiciles as the slavers surrounded the colony of Palmdale.

"NEVER AGAIN!" Hale screamed as she took aim at the first set of slavers debarking their Corvette with her M-55 Argus, the heavy three-round burst of the Turian rifle practically folding a Batarian in half with its impacts as Hale fired again and again in rapid succession, dousing the area with effective, accurate fire at an impressive distance. Saren was pouring fire as well at another detachment of slavers, some twenty Batarians storming out of the drop ramp of their Corvette. His HMWAR VII Assault Rifle took out three of the slavers before they were all able to fully exit the craft. The Turian SPECTRE took out two more before the Batarians could rush for cover, having taken a full quarter of them out. More ships were landing, and he focused on the ones landing, intending to put as many casualties as possible before the Batarians could start finding strongpoints for cover. Already half of the Corvettes had landed, most of their forces already on the ground as Saren grinded his mandibles against his jaw, blasting any Batarian that stuck his head out with his rifle. He had never fought against slavers in the middle of a slave run, only against those who thought themselves safe in their bases, usually too drunk or high to mount an effective defense. Seeing people running towards the school for safety, the stress of the battle was beyond anything he had experienced before. No Turian colony had ever been hit by slavers… but no Turian had ever gone after slavers to rescue others, either. Even Saren felt his spirit being wrenched apart at the sight of a Batarian grabbing some man, dragging him behind a building as the Human clawed against the ground for an escape. The SPECTRE shot the Batarian, clipping the top of his head, making the slaver release the man, who scrambled away to safety.

"Spirits! How many are there?" Nihlus called out as he fired at some Batarians that were using an overturned hoverskid as a barrier, firing from around the metal body of the hovercraft, shooting at the loading vehicle until it burst into flames, making some of the slavers catch on fire while the others dove away from the burning vehicle. Both Saren and Nihlus fired at the scurrying Batarians, seven slavers going down in a hail of mass accelerated gunfire. That left about two hundred or so more to go, it seemed. Saren looked over to see Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer kneeling behind the low wall of the school's roof, popping up a few times to shoot at some of the slavers, seemingly doing more to suppress them than whittling at their numbers. Hale, on the other hand, was on a rampage, firing without abandon at slavers with her Argus, swapping it out for her Typhoon Light Machine Gun. The N7 weapon began spitting out death as the Major sprayed at a gathering force of slavers, her rounds impacting against their shields, cutting into their numbers before her machine gun's overheat alarm rang out. She swapped it for her Argus and kept up the tempo, putting down slavers as quickly as possible. Her sector of fire was strewn with the bodies of Batarians felled by her deadly wrath. Saren was both amazed and impressed with the display as he shot at more of the incoming slavers, his HMWAR VII reaching its heat limit as he switched it out for his HMWSM VII submachine gun, his left hand casting forth as he let Biotic energy flow from his talons, striking a Human transportation vehicle with a Warp field. As he surmised, the fuel cell of the hovercraft detonated, taking out five slavers that had been using it as cover, the resulting explosion throwing several into disarray, hoping to find other cover away from the plume of fire and smoke that covered the area around it. All four of them took advantage of the situation, shooting at the fleeing slavers, seeing Batarians falling to their gunshots.

"Got a gunship coming in!" Meer called out, his voice going at a higher octave as the SPECTRE candidate rose from his cover, putting a three round burst from his Vindicator at an enterprising slaver that was leaning out of his cover. "From the north! Coming in fast and low!"

"It's a Fisher!" Hale announced as she pulled out her Typhoon with her left hand, putting the stock under her armpit as she did the same with her Argus with her right, holding it with her arms pinched to her sides as she aimed the barrels of both weapons at an armed shuttle transport that was making their way towards them. As soon as the transport was in range, Major Jennifer Hale began unloading both of her weapons at the flying vessel, rounds impacting its armored plating with no apparent effect for the first several seconds until one of the engines began to smoke and billow out fire. Saren watched as the transport careen towards the ground in an uncontrolled decent, crashing onto the surface of Mindoir in a violent collision with the ground, flipping it upside down as the engine exploded, catching the vessel on fire. Several Batarians tried exiting the vehicle to avoid a fiery death, but were gunned down by both Nihlus Kryik and Jennifer Hale, dropping them before they made it a dozen meters away from the crash site. The transports' other engine soon caught on fire, and the ship was soon engulfed in a blazing inferno, black smoke pluming from its engines and cabin as one slaver ran out, a running ball of fire, screaming. Hale put a three round burst from her Argus into the slavers' head, putting him out of his burning misery. Saren was almost touched by the sight; despite her absolute hatred for slavers, the Major still had civility to her.

"About half of them a down, and more are trying to make a defensive stand by that… I think it's a civil services building." Nihlus pointed out, and the Turian SPECTRE looked to see the words 'Sheriff' written on a building that was made of brick and mortar; were buildings on Mindoir really built of such substandard materials as oppose to permacrete and pre-fab walls?

"We need to dig them out. Place can be used as an improvised bunker." The N7 grunted as she gunned down two more slavers in quick succession who had been rushing towards the Sheriff's in hopes to escape the wrath of the SPECTREs and their candidates. "We can flush them out with a two-prong attack; one set going through the front door, and the other through the back door. It's just a big room with a few cells for drunks and miscreants, no real place to hide inside." Hale informed them, making Saren nod his head in agreement. Having local knowledge was a definite advantage in this scenario; most times during SPECTRE missions, one was lucky if they knew the floor plan of a location before they hit it, much less the numbers, tactics, and weaponry. "Get ready to drop to the ground. Nihlus? You're after me. Saren? Ready a barrier while I help you guys down."

"Understood." Saren didn't fight her commands; as a SPECTRE he should have been in charge, but he began to see what Ahern was up to. This scenario was to show the worst possible scenario they could face; the middle of a slave run. Not only that, it was what Major Hale feared and hated most. Yet, despite all that, the Alliance Marine was as an effective a leader as her dossier claimed. Perhaps it was a bit personal for her, and she wasn't at her absolute best, but she was more than capable enough as she slung her Typhoon on her back and lowered herself towards the edge of the building, gripping the rock-looking edge and dropping down so that she wasn't falling as far to the ground. Saren watched as she took a knee while pulling out her Argus, putting a burst into an enterprising Batarian who had stuck himself out of one of the windows of the 'Sheriff' building. Hale continued to cover them with accurate fire as Nihlus slid on down to the ground, pulling out his HMWAR VII to provide fire as well. LTC Meer was next, the Hero of Akuze blanching slightly at the sight of having to go over the side of a building, which surprised Saren; wasn't the man an N3? The Human took more than twice the length of time to go over than the Human Major and Turian SPECTRE did put together, almost falling on his ass when he landed. Saren was last, his Barrier still glowing around him as a few rounds pinged off the Biotically-created Barrier, both Hale and Kryik doing an impressive job of keeping the enemy suppressed, though Saren noted that there were a few dead Batarians slumped over window ledges from Hale's incredible accuracy. The Turian simple walked off the edge of the building and let himself float down at half-speed, letting his Biotics slow his descent. He couldn't Float like an Asari, but he could survive a decent fall if necessary without injury. He pulled out his HMWAR VII Assault Rifle and dropped his Barrier, keeping his Biotics activated took more concentration than was necessary to keep him effective in combat. "Last member down."

"Single file, I'll take lead." The Major called out, her voice like steel. "Nihlus, high guard. Saren, flank and protection. Meer, rear guard. MOVE!" The N7 was already walking tactically towards the building marked 'Sheriff's', her pace fast as her whole body seemed to coil around her M-55 Argus, the Turian Battle Rifle aimed at the building as she moved first towards a building, using the structure for cover and concealment as Nihlus, Saren, and Mark got behind her, stacked in an assault team. "We've got about fifty meters to cover before we reach the Sheriff's Office." The N7 told them over her shoulder, poking her head out for a second to relook the situation before taking back to cover. "Nihlus, get ready to run laterally towards that building in front of us with Meer while I cover you with suppressing fire. Saren, I want some cheap Biotic display going towards some other direction as a distraction. That blue nimbus is a dead giveaway."

"Understood, Major." The Turian SPECTRE replied, Saren moving behind Lieutenant Commander Meer to be out of the human's way as Nihlus and the N3 readied themselves to sprint. Saren got a good glimpse at Meer and saw the man's fleshy plates to be pale and leaking; an obvious sign that the man… was afraid? It was hard to remember that this was a combat simulator, that they weren't in any actual danger. Yet the man who had supposedly killed a Thresher Maw single-handedly on foot seemed to be frightened of slavers holed up in a building. The Turian SPECTRE filed that away for later investigation. They still had a mission to perform, even if it was a training mission.

"Saren, distraction!" Hale called out as she stuck herself around the corner of the building, leaving as little a target as possible as her Argus went to work, firing at the Batarian-held Sheriff's Office with impunity as Saren let the electrical charge of his Biotics course through his plates, his hands glowing blue as he shot out what was essentially a large, if relatively weak, pull field at what appeared to be a Human-created piece of farming machinery in the opposite direction that Nihlus and Mark were suppose to go. The SPECTRE knew that the Batarians would be distracted by the sight of movement, and the wheeled vehicle would provide cover if they had wanted to use that; get the Spirits-forsaken Blinks to think they were trying to flank them. Saren turned to see that Nihlus was already at the cover of the building Hale had identified to him, safe and secure with his back to the wall and his HMWAR in his talons.

Meer was still by his side.

"Meer? What the _fuck_?" Hale shouted, turning to see the Lieutenant Commander still there, not having went with Nihlus Kryik when the Turian dashed from cover to cover. "Why the _fuck_ are you still here?"

"I'm tired of taking orders from a _cunt_ like you!" Meer replied, seething, his blue eyes filled with some emotion that Saren didn't immediately recognize, but it looked like loathing. His weapon was pointed at the ground and held loosely in his hand as his other hand was pointing right at the Marine viciously. "You are reckless, insubordinate, and are in no way in charge of _me_! Do you have any idea who I am? I don't need the likes of _some woman_ telling me what to do! I am a man, and I do what I want!" Meer was screaming at the top of his vocal range, completely oblivious to the fact that they were in a firefight where injuries were possible from the holographic opposition. Saren wanted to rip the little male human's head off right then and there, everything screaming how un-Turian the man was; Major Hale was indeed in charge of the man, the Executive Officer of the SSV _Normandy_ , second-in-command. Now he was beginning to see what a 'sexist' was.

"Okay, Mr. Hero of Akuze." Hale's voice was neither loud nor angry; instead, it was quiet and hard, like ice. Her hand snaked forward and snatched at the front lip of Meer's chestplate, pulling him down and close to her face, to the point where their snouts... _noses_ were touching, Saren noted. "I want you to follow _every_ fucking order I give, or I will kick you in the cock so Goddamn hard that it will indent itself into a vagina. Are we clear, _Mister_ Meer?" For about three breaths, the Turian SPECTRE wasn't sure what the outcome would be between the two Humans; it could honestly have gone in any direction. Meer glared at the smaller woman that held him tight with her hand, unable to budge as the Marine stared at him without pity or remorse, her blue eyes simply boring into him.

"You'll regret this, cunt." The Lieutenant Commander promised with a seething voice, and Saren did his best to hold back a growl; in the Hierarchy, Hale would have had full authority to put a bullet in Meer's forehead without any fear of reprisal or repercussion for mutiny. Unfortunately, it didn't seem that the Alliance allowed such things; he would have to look up the punishment for insubordination in the Human military. Evidently, straight-up execution wasn't one of the available options.

"Get your ass over to your partner, and pretend to act like you might be a fucking soldier." Hale growled, not bothering to disguise her tone or her voice as she stared the Lieutenant Commander down to where the man complied, hustling across the street towards the building that Nihlus was posted at, bunkering behind a wall for cover. "Fucking asshat." The Marine growled again softly, her brown eyes flashing towards Saren. "Ready to assault the Sherriff's?" There was no mistaking her tone on just how angry she was.

"Of course." Saren replied, nodding in compliance as he readied his HMWAR, cradling it in his talons. "Ready when you are, Hale."

"Good. Let's clear those fuckers out."

* * *

 _A/N: WARNING - The next portion will involve the aftermath of Mindoir, specifically Major Jennifer Hale's circumstances as a survivor of a slave raid, a rape victim, and a murder attempt. Note that this is a work of fiction. Thank you._

* * *

Major Jennifer Hale was better than Saren Arterius even believed possible.

The two SPECTREs and two SPECTRE candidates stood in the Sherriff's building, every Batarian that had been holed up in the civil service building dead. There hadn't been a call for surrender; both teams had breached the building from opposite entrances and laid waste to the defenders inside in less than a minute. Corralled as they were inside the building, the Batarians had nowhere to run or hide, and had been ruthlessly gunned downed by the four elite operatives. Saren and Hale had finished checking the bodies for signs of life, and the Turian SPECTRE was pleased to see that nothing was left alive. He had wondered if the Human Marine would call for a surrender, but hadn't bothered. This didn't detract her actions, in his mind; Turians didn't call for a surrender, they expected their enemies to give up when they finally realized they stood no chance. Saren knew that Humanity itself had some proclivity in giving their enemies a chance, to ask them to put down their weapons before an attack, which the SPECTRE thought asinine. Such thinking could be disastrous, as Hale found out, to her regret, on Torfan when the surrendering Batarians began detonating themselves among her men. Why chance it?

"We did it." Major Hale breathed out, checking her Omnitool by bringing it up and turning on one of its war apps, turning on what appeared to be a localized radar of some sort, probably based upon movement. "I counted two hundred and seventeen enemy personnel exiting the space craft, and I count two hundred and seventeen bodies."

"Your Omnitool can do that?" Arterius asked, surprised. That was handy; he would have to see if he could get something like that.

"No, I did it." The Human replied softly, neither boastful or proud of being able to count mobile enemy forces in the middle of an assault. Spirits, even Salarians couldn't do that, despite their high-function math cognizance brains and quicker reaction times! Her records had mentioned nothing of such a skill.

"Does anyone else hear that sound?" Nihlus Kryik brought up, moving around a low table that was made of wood, a few holes marring its structure from the ensuing firefight to clear the Sherriff's office. "I can barely make it out, but it sounds like someone is in pain." Saren held his breath and strained his ears, and Nihlus was correct; there was the faint sound of... crying? Perhaps whimpering. "It sounds like someone is calling for their mother." Damn Nihlus had some good auditory skills, Saren noted, and not for the first time. Yet his eyes went to Major Jennifer Hale, and saw that her skin plates had gone a different color, almost going white as her lower horizontal mandible trembled.

"No. No no no no..." The N7 muttered, her blue eyes wild as she looked out towards one of the windows of the building, towards where Saren had noted a large wooden structure that didn't seem to be a residence or a business, just outside the colony proper. Without a word or explanation, the Major ran out of the building, pushing her way through the door she had kicked in earlier during the assault, and the Biotic Turian SPECTRE ran after her, fast on her heels as the Human Marine ran past buildings and evidence of their previous firefight, the bodies of slavers decorating the ground. She wasn't even checking them for lifesigns or movement as she bounded away, Saren actually having a hard time keeping up with the shorter Human being. She rounded around one building and towards the large wooden structure with its large door that looked to be a stable for animals or storage for agricultural products. Saren rounded the building as well, and what he saw made his spirit shiver in revulsion.

In front of the barn were four Human bodies; two males, and two females.

"Oh, Spirits..." Nihlus whispered as he came to Saren's side, having chased them down as well, Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer appearing a few seconds later, huffing in breath as they looked at the figure of Major Jennifer Hale slowly walk towards the bodies on the ground. Saren couldn't help but note that the men looked to have been executed, while the women had their clothing only partially removed, the short two-piece robes that humans called _shirts_ and _pants_ torn open at the fronts, exposing the rounded portions of their upper chests and the places that their legs came together. While the Turian SPECTRE didn't have any sort of physical attraction to Humans what-so-ever, his felt his breath catch in his snout at the implication, knowing fully what it meant. He knew what he was seeing.

Major Jennifer Hale had sunk to her knees right next to the smallest of the four, her weapon dropping from nerveless hands as she sobbed. Saren slowly approached the scene, feeling his heart wrench at the sight of the family, knowing the story from various sources, one of them being Fleet Master Jon Grissom from after the Board. Executed father. Executed brother. Raped and executed mother. Raped daughter, attempted execution with three shots in the abdominal region and one in the chest, near where the human heart laid. The SPECTRE had seen death in many forms, being a veteran of the Relay 314 Incident as well as over a hundred SPECTRE missions. Yet he had never seen anything like this; the survivors of a slave raid. He had worked against slavers before on a few occasions, breaking into their compounds while they slept or drank, a whirlwind of death and retribution against their ignorance and complacency. Yet he had never visited a reaved site before, to see the victims of such an event. The sight of the Humans running away in fear in the colonial town had hit a nerve inside of him, stirring his Turian soul with the evilness of the act. Now he was looking at the aftermath. The Biotically-capable Turian stood by Hale as she held the hand of the young Human woman that laid on the ground, her face swollen and bloody from strikes, bleeding from several bullet wounds in her abdomen near a natural pit in the stomach region that Humans called a _belly button_ , and another bullet wound just above the left bulge of her chest, near where the single human heart was located. The girl on the ground was sobbing and crying pitifully as Hale held one of her hands, trying to calm the victim down as the girl cried for her mother and father.

Hale was looking at her younger self.

"It hurts." The girl moaned, the tears running down her swollen cheeks from blackened eyes, blood leaking past a split and bloody lower mandible as she coughed, more blood tricking down the corner of her mandible, adding to the path of blood that already stained her cheek. "It hurts... they... they hurt me so _bad_..." The girl sobbed.

"I know it does, honey." Hale cooed, her voice soft, tender, holding the girls' hand with both of hers, her attention only for the young Human female laying on the ground. "It's over, honey. I killed them all. No one is going to hurt you _ever again_." Saren could only hold his peace as he watched the scene from a few feet away, unable to find the words, his spirit in turmoil. Was this what it had been like for the Human Major? Lying bleeding on the ground, so close to death, with the corpses of her family for company? He realized that he knew enough of Mindoir's history to know that no one had defended the colony, that young Jennifer Hale had been left for dead, probably as a warning to others. Hearing the words coming from both the girl and the Major tore at him, and Saren felt a rage that built up inside of him, stronger and fiercer than he had ever felt before. Not even during the worst of the Relay 314 Incident had he ever experienced such rage inside of him, not even concerning his brother. That had been war, and he understood the price and the cost of war. This... this hadn't been war. This had been a vile crime, evil in its very definition, the anathema of everything that a Turian stood for. Looking upon the young woman on the ground, all Saren could feel was a red, red rage as hot as an incendiary round in his carapace, set to explode.

"I want Mama and Papa." The girl cried out again, coughing up more blood, and Saren could hear the catch in her throat as the girl tried to breath, hearing the tell-tale sign of liquid in her breath; the bullet must have clipped her lung, and was bleeding into her chest cavity. That wasn't a good sign. "I want this nightmare to go away." The Turian could see the girl's small, fragile-looking hand gripping Hale's tightly, holding onto the only thing left with a death grip.

"The nightmare... it never ends." Hale whispered, and Saren saw that the Major was leaking fluids from her eyes as well; _crying_ was the Human term, something a Turian couldn't do very well. "It will haunt you every night, shadow every thought you have, and stare at you from the mirror every chance it gets." The words tore into Saren, and he felt the cold stab of shame piercing into his spirit, hearing such a confession from the Human woman. He... he shouldn't be intruding onto something such as this, but that wasn't where the shame was coming from. This woman, this survivor, a victim of a crime so horrible that he had just bore witness to, made it her quest to eradicate slavery. What horror infected her mind to seek out the very thing that she undoubtedly feared more than anything else, to stop such an abominable practice? What terror must she have felt, to face a nightmare not only in her nightmares, but find and stop those that had made her a victim in the first place? What shamed the SPECTRE was the fact that he had never done such a thing himself. Never had he truly gone after slavers, raiding a base or two that were small in comparison based upon the investigations that he commanded, but no more than that. He had never rescued a slave, stopped a raid, or gone after a ship that was ferrying people captured before reaching an auction block. The victim that held the young girl's hand had rescued a _hundred thousand_ slaves, killing and capturing her greatest fear. Who was he to judge her? In the entirety of his career he could not compare himself to Major Jennifer Hale and her accomplishments, the so-called Butcher of Torfan that could one day be Humanity's First SPECTRE.

 _Because we need a reason to be a little less afraid_ , the N7 had mentioned in the comms room of the Normandy the first day they had been on the vessel, and now Saren understood. What did a Turian of the Hierarchy have to fear with their thirty-two fleets, millions of soldiers, and over a thousand SPECTREs? If someone had raided Taetrus or Gellix, reaving the population for slaves, the Hierarchy would have sent all thirty-eight dreadnauts to glass the offending species off the face of the galaxy, leaving the Garden World worse off than Heshtok once they were done. Humanity couldn't do that; the Counsel wouldn't let them have the military ability to do so, and it wasn't like the Counsel would kick the Turians from Citadel Space, the backbone of enforcement and military power for half the galaxy. Now he could see the sum of their fears, what boogeyman crept in the dark for humanity; the fear of alien power, held in check by more aliens. How would he have felt if the Asari had been worse on the Turian Hierarchy for the Relay 314 Incident, forced to give ships over that they had destroyed in the Human's fleets, forced to kill all the soldiers involved? It would have been a bloodbath if the Turians saw the Counsel as the enemy. Yet Humanity _did_ see them as the enemy of sorts, forcing them to be raided against without any real repercussions against those who did so. Major Jennifer Hale made it her life's personal quest to fight against slavery, and there were other Humans who were of the same stiffness of plate, such as Lieutenant Commander Paulo Fonzarelli and Lieutenant Colonel Sara Carter, who both attended the same Board as Hale. Even Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo, nicknamed the Typhoon of Eden Prime, was widely regarded as a slaver-hunter, and had served under Hale's command twice, the most notable being her volunteering to be a platoon sergeant during the Assault on Torfan, and her other action being during the Assault of Elysium, serving temporarily under 1st Lieutenant Jane Shepard. Humanity was supported by the heroism and blood of such warriors like Hale, Shepard, Anderson, and Grissom. Only a proud few among the billions of souls that boasted Earth as their planetary mother.

Saren looked down to Major Hale, seeing her wiping away some of the blood that dribbled down the girl's lips, and he was surprise to hear the Marine whispering a song to the young woman on the ground, singing to her softly, a song that he didn't recognize, but he heard the words of the Human music; something about starting a joke that got the world crying. The girl struggled to keep her eyes open as Hale held her hand, and the Turian could see that the young Human's grip was weakening, her gunshot wounds still oozing blood at a rate that he didn't believe healthy for the victim. The girl passed out a moment later as Hale's soft singing faded away, and the environment slowly faded with it, the backdrop of Mindoir slowly sinking to the ground as the bodies and buildings died away, Omnigel creations ran by simulators melting away. Hale now knelt on gunmetal grey alumnisteel, her hand holding air as the girl that had been lying on the ground faded to nothingness, a faded memory of a nightmare that lived on. Hale slowly stood to her feet after picking up her M-55 Argus, turning to see Saren close by, the Turian unable to hide his emotional state. He felt ashamed that he witnessed such a thing. The memory of it wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon.

"C'mon, let's get the fuck out of here." Hale spoke, her voice dead of emotion, belying the stains of tears that ran down her face, her pale face-plates making the scar that ran diagonally down her features an easy stark reminder of what she had survived. "If I don't drink myself into oblivion soon, I'm going to be gutterstomping somebody's face into the pavement. And my first two choices on my shit list happen to be on the same station as me."

"Then I'll be buying. For their sakes." Saren replied, surprising both Hale and himself. No, not surprised. Perhaps strange, but not surprising. Hale was a warrior, like he. And it was as he told her before in the comms room; SPECTREs looked after their own. "Someone has to make sure you don't drunkenly take over the galaxy while no one's watching."

"Fair enough, Arterius. Fair enough."

* * *

A/N: For weaponry and armor, I know that the first game had levels and such for each, giving you better statistics. Considering that my M-4 didn't come with mods to make it shoot faster or better (sigh) I made a way to make that work; levels, generations, new versions, etc. I'm also trying to same such things appropriately, like the Onyx Armor is now known as the Carrier Assembly Armor (which is the same name as the Ranger Armor that the US Army uses today) and Interceptor Armor (which is the IBA that everyone in the US military uses if they aren't using the Carrier, which I jokingly refer to as the 'Reporter Armor').

Some of the color schemes of the armor (and yeah, the weapons too) in ME were silly. I don't remember which ones came out in puke yellow or neon lime green, but that was silly. I know you can't camouflage an Army, but some tactical sense would be nice. Black isn't always appropriate, but you would think color schemes that somewhat match the environment would make sense. I could see puke yellow working on, say, Venus.

For all the mention of the Batarians and slavery, there were no slave raids or actions pertaining to such in the game. That would have been some good missions, bunch of civilians running about while you gun down slavers while avoiding fratricide. The mission I created here is somewhat based off of fact, but it was insurgents coming into a village to execute those they thought 'friendly' to Americans.

LtCdr. Meer is actually not an N3; he did not pass. The game doesn't explain what the various courses are, so I made up my own; conquering certain flaws and fallacies to make better warriors and leaders, such as fear and confidence. Hale is one of seven female N7's, and the rest will be explained later. Lee Riley is one of them (canon, from ME 3) as was Cdr. Shepard (see _Inizio: Advanguardia_ a trip down memory lane if you need it). I will name the other four later, and you will recognize most of the names.

The song mentioned Hale singing to her younger self is the BeeGee's 'I Started A Joke'. Totally ripped-off from the new Suicide Squad trailer. Very haunting and perfect.


	16. Meer: Tangled Webs

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 15: Meer, Tangled Webs

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 28, 2183, 1947 Pinnacle

The 'Refit' deck had filled with the Call Of Business that ended the standard military day upon Pinnacle Station, and Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer sat at one of the tables at the Catina, nursing a whiskey-and-coke as he watched Marines and sailors slowly filtering into the drinking establishment as some country and colony hick music pumped out of the overhead speakers of the Cantina, filling the bar with the twangs of Haptic guitars and synth-drums, singing some colonial hillbilly song about how some bumpkin girl thought the singer's tractor was sexy. Meer hated the music, not at all the dub-beat rock of his youth, that fast-beat pounding music with its distortions and filtered sounds that could be heard pounding away in someone's apartment or hover vehicle at a hundred decimals in Eddietown. He didn't miss the cracked and ruined streets of the dilapidated city, the buildings that were gutted and decayed, the shuffling masses of vagrants and squatters that made the old abandoned city their home.

In a previous century, Edmonton was once the symbol of Industrialization, but recessions, depressions, war, ravages of a socialized economy, and too many roits had the city abandoned by its own government, declared a No Man's Land due to expense; no one had ever torn a city down with the intent to start again. So Edmonton stood, barely managed by the secluded communities of Down Town, everything outside their walls a pitiful commodity to be used. It was on those failed streets that Mark Meer was born, among the cockroaches and rats that called themselves human beings, to a mother who supposedly made her living on her back. He never had a father or a father figure until he was ten, when he started being a runner for the Tenth Street Reds, transporting messages, drugs, guns, and anything else that would make him a Credit so he wouldn't go hungry or cold. It was there that he met Granger, the leader of the Reds, an old man at the age of twenty-five. Granger lead through strength and excellence, by being better than everyone else. Mark had once lived for Granger's approval, to be the man that had hundreds of kids like him working for him. When Meer started proving himself worthy, Granger had him do real work, hiring him out for jobs that mattered. Granger had friends in Down Town, men that did more than drugs and theft; things that matter for the survival and advancement of humanity. It was Granger that passed Meer to the attention to those men, who called themselves 'the Corporation'. It was they who gave him the necessary training and education to succeed. It was they that got him into the Naval Academy in Annapolis.

It was them that gave him the path to success, to his destiny.

And then there was the _cunt_.

"How did it get to this?" Meer asked himself, looking at his glass of whiskey-and-coke. He couldn't understand it, how some female ended up his superior officer. He had never had a woman in charge of him before, and he certainly didn't like the thought of the cunt in charge of him. But the military saw her as _his_ superior officer, and that was then end of that. It didn't matter that he was a Naval Officer, a soon-to-be fully-promoted Commander, or anything else; she was his Executive Officer, period. That he insubordinated himself on her would be all a Court Martial would ever hear, not the fact that she was a woman or practically grinding her ass against whatever a Turian considered their cocks. Even his friends in the Corporation would undoubtedly be unable to help him if he suffered a Chapter 15.

But there were other ways he could level the playing field.

He noticed Corporal Richard Jenkins walking into the Catina with several other male Marines, none of them with any women. That was good; not interrupting anything would mean the Marine would be a little more receptive. Jenkins was looking around, and was obviously surprised when Meer motioned him over to his table. The Corporal approached slowly, obviously unsure what it could be about; Officers generally didn't invote Enlisted Members for drinks, and certainly not field-grade officers. When the Corporal took to his seat, Meer waved over one of the waitresses and offered the Marine a drink, as well as buying it. That was always a surefire way to get someone to bend an ear.

"Good evening, Richard. May I call you Richard?" Meer asked, his voice friendly, his tone pleasant, and his body language inviting. "No reason for rank while we're off the clock."

"Um... okay, sir... I'm mean... Mark." The Corproal looked a little uncomfortable, but not so nervous that he seemed to want to leave. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Don't Officers usually have their own bar or section?"

"I like hanging out with the men that help protect humanity, Richard, not those who think only of themselves." The Hero of Akuze replied, the irony of his statement not lost on him. "I've been sitting here thinking about some of the things I've been seeing, and frankly... I'm not sure what to do."

"What do you mean?" The Corproal asked, and in perfect timing, the waitress came by with a bourbon-and-coke for the Marine. "Something on the _Normandy_?"

"Yes, but really, it's just one person." The Lieutenant-Commander replied, taking a sip of his own whiskey-and-coke. "You know of the two... Counsel Observers that we've had on the _Normandy_ , yes?" To that, the Corporal nodded, scowling. Perfect. "They've been spending a lot of time... well, I don't think I should say anything, considering it involves another Marine." _Testing the waters,_ Meer thought to himself, watching for Jenkins' reaction. He assumed that such a statement might be troublesome as Marines stuck up for one another almost to the point of stupidity. But if there was one thing he knew he could count on for a human being not to trust another human being, it was getting an alien involved. He had majored in Psychology in Military Academy, and he knew what to look for in another human being. All the signs that Jenkins was giving off was that he was uncomfortable with the conversation, but he didn't want something to slide on the off chance something was wrong. A good kid in a bad place; perfect.

"Is someone selling secrets?" Jenkins asked in a conspiratorial whisper, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. Thankfully, there were no ONI Agents around; Meer had already spotted them using his Corporation connections.

"No... I mean, I don't _think_ so." Meer answered, letting his voice do the work, interjecting just enough worry into his voice. "But if that's not the case, what else could it be?" _That's right, connect the dots yourself..._

"Well, I guess if it's just a couple guys, they could just be shooting the shit, right? There's no real harm in that, is there?" The Marine Corporal reasoned out loud, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes went to Meer, and slowly, the young man from Eden Prime's mouth slowly dropped open. "Oh, it isn't a couple of guys shooting the shit, is it?"

"It involves a female Alliance Officer." That had the Corporal's face darken considerably. Meer could see the doubt creeping in the Corporal's eyes. He didn't name names, but he didn't have to; the cunt was the only female Officer on the ship. Jenkins could come up with his own conclusions. Better that way. "I don't want to jump to conclussions, but I can't tell if anything is going on, good or bad. I'm just worried that someone will think the wrong thing if questions get asked. I can't just go accusing someone with proof, but I can't help defend if I _can't_ prove that everything is fine. I only have so many eyes."

And the Spider added another web to his weave.

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer walked through the corridors of Pinnacle Station, the morning hours of the Station having the military members stationed there on duty rotation, most at work. The halls that ran rings on the inside of the bulkheads were decently populated with sailors running details or errands, Marines moving from one level to another, and civilian defense contractors going to whatever locations their jobs entailed. Meer ignored them equally, never giving any of them more than the allotted amount of time he spent on anyone else; just enough to evaluate their use, and discarding them just as quickly, done in a mere second. If he thought someone was beneath him or not worth his time, then he gave them the common courtesy of ignoring their entire existance. One female Marine in a blue PT uniform was running down the corridors of Pinnacle Station, obviously running what was knonw as 'the Track'; the station was 10.5 kilometers around, and doing it for times was known as the Pinnacle Marathon, being 42.16 km, or the original 26.2 miles that was associated with it. He sneered at the sight of the woman as she ran in the oppositie direction he was walking, running towards him as her Alliance Blue PT shirt shifted and swayed with her jostling breasts as she ran towards him. Meer was surprised to see that, complete with sweat on her shirt and her hair still tied-off in its constant pony-tail, Major Jennifer Hale was the one running the track, bounding down the corridor in a pair of runners' sneakers, the Marines' PT shorts giving a good view of more than half of her toned, shapely thighs. As she ran by him, the Marine giving him a slight nod of her head as she flew by, Mark admitted that the cunt did impose one hell of a sexy figure; lean, tone, athletically-built with lean muscle mass as oppose to one of those grotesque muscle women. The Ranger Panties she wore for PT shorts were more than short enough to expose a good portion of her thighs, and didn't leave much to the imagination as he turned back slightly to get a glimpse of her ass.

Meer found that after that little display, he had a bit more spring to his step.

He continued to make his way through the Station, turning down a corridor normally reserved for administrative work, where Naval Yeomen worked desks for their Officers, filing and data entering while high-level decision making was made on an hourly basis. This was where he belonged, Mark knew, where the real players of the Alliance Military were. The Arc was more prestigeous, of course, where he would be rubbing shoulders with men of flag-rank, as well as the politicians of the Alliance Parliament, where they convened for two-thirds of the Terran year. But to get there, he'd have to work his way up, like he did with everything else. Too fast, and he would seem pretenscious. Too slow and he would be a stuck at some desk at some dead-end political job fielding calls and chaing iteneraries for politcal dinners he himself wasn't invited to. To get there, he would have to plan his ascent carefully. Well-planned steps, well-planned moves, keeping others from trying to cut him off from his destiny by making sure their flaws were exposed and their secrets known to him. Ot wouldn't do to have his rise undercut by someone less worthy, after all.

Which was why he was heading towards a meeting with no less than three Committee members.

Meer found himself walking by more illustrious members of the Alliance military, passing by Majors and Lieutenant Commanders with attaches trailing them, and even Lieutenant Colonels and Commanders as well. One day soon, he would been one of those men, the Naval Commander knew. But to do that, he had to make sure he was on the right track. In order to do that, he would have to make sure that the Corporation approved of his decisions, as well as making sure that he was doing what they approved of. Walking down the corridor, he found the door he needed, a conference room that was 'reserved' to names that were innocuous, protecting the identities of the Committee members. Reaching the door in question, labeled 'Conference Room B', Meer, straightened his DSU's out, and walked through the door.

Inside the conference room was a plain conference room table, several chairs, and three men in suits.

Commander Mark Meer stood in front of the three men, their identities disguised by Omnigel-created Everyman Face masks that flickered with multiple faces in multiple sections, going through a variety of features at a rapid pace; mouth, eyes, noses, cheeks, chin, and foreheads blurring seperately from one feature to the next at random, never matching with any other portion. Not only was it meant to disguise the faces of the Committee Members from whomever they were visiting (such as himself) but also from each other. In such meetings as these, even the identities of the Committee Members were kept secret from one another, so if one decided to turn, they couldn't implicate exactly _who_ sat on such things. As he understood it, the Committee itself sat on baord meetings in such a matter, the Members not even knowing who the other was, merely their title. One day, he would be sitting at the big table, staring at Everyman Faces, wearing one himself, not knowing who his contemporaries were.

He longed for that day.

" _Meer_." The first Member spoke, the one on the left-hand side, a synthesized vocal distortion module echoing his voice in five different voices, weaving in and out to not only make it impossible to identifiy the member by vocal speech patterns, but also impossible to seperate digitally to track said voice. " _Update_."

"I am following all objectives as ordered." The Lieutenant Commander replied, keeping his answers short and sweet. In a meeting such as these, it paid to answer the question directly, not informatively. If they wanted a full debrief, they would ask for one. Most times, Committee Members had limited time to conduct such meetings, as going away too long would have their public identities under scrutiny. The fact that he was meeting three Members of the Corporations' Committee face-to-face (so to speak, as it were) was indeed an honor. "Nothing further to report from my previous debriefs."

" _Tell me of your competitor, Hale._ " The one on the right asked, the same warbling voice distortion asking him a question. " _Is she worthy of an offer from the Corporation? Would she accept?"_

"With the right strings and incentives, possibly." Meer sneered at the thought of the cunt being a part of the Corporation, but he wasn't being asked his feelings, but the truth. Men like these weren't interested in his opinon. Lying to them was the last thing he would want to do... and the last thing he would ever do. "She hates slavery with a passion, not necessarily just the Blinks, but anyone incorporated with the practice. That's our easy in; offering her intel, budget, ships, personnel, and the potential of sending her somewhere worthwhile where we can feed her desire to save more rabble and gun down more scum. Wrap it up in a package with strings attached with a bow on top would be too tempting a morsel for her. She might say no at first on principle, but enact another slave raid like the one on Mindoir or Praxia, one where she isn't involved at all, and her guilt and conscious will work on her worming our offer straight to her heart. She's an easy book to read; she wants to be a savior, and failing that is her worst nightmare."

" _That is easily accomplished_." The middle Member replied, nodding his shifting faces. " _I concur that Hale is easily targeted for recruitment, but everything in her file suggests that continued cooperation will prove most difficult. Would you say that is a fair assessment, Commander?"_

"Yes." Meer nodded, once again, being completely honest. "She views things at a distinct level of black-and-white, a regular knight in shining armor. Trying to leverage her will prove difficult, as her only remaining known family member is Captain Hannah Shepard, her adopted mother. Her reputation means that trying other means could prove costly; she is well-known for her heavy-handed approach and assault tactics, and angering her will gerner a wrath that is near apocalyptic in nature. On the other hand, putting her on the spot with difficult question will fluster her easily; I've seen it on ANN and Westerlund News a dozen times where her passions get the best of her, and she fumbles. Other than the slaver angle, Major Hale will prove difficult to entice to the Corporation. She will see us as Cerberus, and she will not understand the things we do in Humanity's favor. If she is recruited, she would work well as an asset; chasing slavers and traitors, something she is good at. For more sensitive issues and operations, she will prove difficult, and possibly the exact opposite of what we need."

" _Agreed."_ Left replied, looking to his fellow Members. " _Hale is a weapon in human form, one that could come back and hit us just as hard if she discovers certain actions. It would be better to feed her certain intel and let her do the dirty work for us than to entice her and bring her into the fold. We use her and keep her in the dark. Keep her too busy chasing what she wants most, and if she proves to becoming too difficult to control, we have the next target booby trapped to remove her from the equation. An easy scenario and an easy solution."_

 _"I concur and second it."_ Right answered.

" _Then it shall be done."_ Middle nodded, not objecting. " _Meer, monitor Hale for any actionable intel that we can use as leverage. Anything that can potentially compromise her will do well for us. Continue your previous objectives, and we shall see what we can do to remove Hale from the SPECTRE Candidacy, those Grissom will make that difficult for us to enact, unfortunately."_ That had Meer grimace; Fleet Master Grissom, despite his age, was still powerful enough in authority and spirit that even he single-handedly could give the Committe grief and pause. A part of him admired that in the man, even if they did not stand together in politicis and rationale. " _Continue to perform, and you shall be Humanity's First SPECTRE. You will be the Committee's Right Arm; free to enact all we wish to do without censor, perview, or mettling."_ That had Meer swell with pride, wanting to be exactly in that position; the Sword of Humanity. _"We will keep in contact with you, Operative. Nothing further."_

"Good day, Chairmen." Meer saluted, as it was more habit than anything before he turned around and left the conference room.

One day soon, Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer knew that everything that he had worked for and struggled would be worth it.

* * *

A/N: So I went and enjoyed the holidays instead of dropping more of my insane ideas on you. Vacation's over. Back to work.

This chapter explains Meer a little better as to why he is such an asshole. I actually am basing this off someone I know, who came from Detroit, and lived in South Detroit. He somehow walked away from a life of drugs and crime and became a good person without going to jail, prison, or the morgue. That probably makes him a saint. In fact, that was my nickname for him during my first tour in Baghdad.

Yes, I so totally used Kenny Chesney's 'She Thinks My Tractors' Sexy' as a country and colony (my ME version of country and western music) song. Since two-thirds of the Alliance colonies are farming communities, it make perfect sense. And also, a resurgance in farmer music as someone's got to grow crops on Mars. I'm thinking like actual algae farms and biosphere geodesic greenhouses and such, unless someone's growing native crops on another planet. Algae farms do exist, and sound exactly as they are; someone farms algae for food purposes. Where the hell do you think yogurt, cheese, and penicillian come from?

Ranger Panties - This is an Army joke; Rangers don't wear panties, but working around 2nd Rat Bat (the 2nd Ranger Battalion) the first thing I noticed was that their PT shorts were... _shorter_ than the normal Army ones, and thus are known as _Ranger Panties_. Do yourself a favor; don't mention this to them unless you feel like being chased by a shitload of elite Infantrymen who train about seven times more intensely than the average Army grunt (and about thirty times more than an Army service and support member, dubbed 'POGs', which stands for 'Personnel Other than Grunt'). Technically, anyone can be a Ranger (Infantry, truck driver, cook... you get the picture) but most Ranger Bats are stuffed with 11Bs, 11Cs, and sprinkled with 19Ds (Infantrymen, Mortarmen, and Cavalrymen, for you non-Army types). The Marine PT shorts that I mention Hale wearing are based off the Ranger Panties.

Everyman Faces - stolen from A Scanner Darkly, where portions of a face shift every second to someone else of any race and gender, meaning you could possibly have a variety of six different face at once, changing out every second at random features and at random toimes.

Writing Meer is a real pain in the ass. *sigh*


	17. Kryik: Hunting

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 16: Kryik, Hunting

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 29, 2183 2301 Pinnacle

A/N: WARNING! SMUT ABOUND!

 _Human strip joints_ , Nihlus Kryik thought to himself as he took a sip of his Palavenian Pale Ale, watching an Asari Maiden rotating her deliciously tapered waist and rounded hips in front of him, dancing on his table that he had put Galactic Credits on, _are definately the best places in the galaxy._ The Maiden, whose name may have been Starla or Starlya, he wasn't too sure, flexed her thighs as her blue postieror dipped dangerously close towards the table in a feat of flexability that the Turian SPECTRE had to tilt his head to one side to truly appreciate as he gave a Turian grin in appreciation. The music that was playing overhead was off-and-on as Alliance Marines and Sailors on one side of the Refit Deck were having a karaoke competition, some of the songs straight up goofy as the strip club portion played Asari dubsynth, the pulse of the music providing the beat for the Maiden and her 'co-workers' as she pivoted to where he was now staring at her front side as she ran her hands down the curves of her body, her hands paying special attention to the rounded bulges on her chest as she flex again, her hips pushing forward far enough to put her scantily-clad _azure_ within nipping range. While he prefered Turian girls, Nihlus was realistic; no Palavenian could flex that way. The Asari gave the SPECTRE a smile as she went from his table to his chair, her feet placing themselves on the seat just beside his hips as she bent at the knees, her _azure_ and _midnight_ a tantilizing inch away from grinding into his _vnark_. Spirits the girl knew her business, and he tipped her in a way that suggested that he was a professional connoisseur of such things, and hinting that the more she gave, the more he would give. It wasn't like prostitution was illegal for Asari or Turians. Poor Humans. The Maiden flexed again, her blue thighs practically tickling his mandibles as the Asari smiled at him with full lips and glimmering eyes as she nodded, one of her strange five digits motioning him to follow her as she tilted her head towards a private room towards the back.

 _Wonder if she's got roommates._ Nihlus thought to himself as he polished his PPA and let himself be dragged towards the private room in question, looking forward to playing his _vnark_ along the Maidens' _azure_. He was, after all, what Humans liked to call a 'player'. From what he understood of the colliquism, he very much approved. They were almost to the private room when he accidently bumped into a Human female in a black top half-robe that Humans called shirts and hoodies. He turned to apologize to the Human female, and was surprised to see brown fringe hair, blue eyes, and a single scar that went diagonally across the females' faceplates. Spirits! He had bumped into...

"Hale!" Nihlus couldn't believe his luck as he looked at the Human Marine's eyes, watching her as she looked at him, then at the very-scantily clad Asari Maiden that was practically hanging off his arm, and then back to him, an amused look upon her face as her horizontal mandibles twisted up on one side in a half-smile. He forced out a cough, finding himself a little embarassed for being caught in such a sitiuation. He barely knew the woman personnally save for her record and the few things Saren Arterius had told him. Human females could be... touchy... when it came to Asari, especially the dancers and strippers. But, then again, what was _she_ doing in a strip club?

"Don't mind me, big guy. Go have some fun." The N7 Marine, made a _shoo'ing_ motion with one of her hands as she leaned over to the Asari, and whispered something into the Maiden's earhole behind her crest, talking for a good minute before pulling away with a smirk, the Maidens' eyes wide as she stared at the Marine as if she had just admitted to sleeping with Hanar. He looked at her quizzically; _what had she said?_ It must have been obvious, because Hale began to laugh. "Don't worry, you'll be thanking me later. Come find me when you're done making little blue babies." Nihlus noticed that Hale wasn't alone; there was another Human woman by her side, one with blonde fringe-hair that was dressed in a way that showed off a fair portion of her bulges on her chest, as well as her waist. Not bad... for a Human. The Maiden began tugging on his arm, and Nihlus watched as Hale waved at him as the Asari pulled him into the private room that she had indicated a few moments before, practically pushing him in the available chair as she got onto her knees in front of him, pushing up the hem of his robe to expose his legs and more.

"What did she tell you?" Nihlus asked, noticing that the Asari seemed a good deal more eager than before, and she wasn't exactly being shy.

"Your friend told me that there's only one thing that any male in that galaxy would want more than anything else." Starla or Starlya replied as she found the plates that covered his _vnark_ , stroking it in a way that would have him get ready to breed... if Asari worked that way. "She even told me how to do what she called a 'good one'." Nihlus grunted as his pubic plates began to split open, his _vnark_ exposing itself as the Asari continued to tease him. "I've never heard of it before, but she called it a 'blow-job'."

"Spirits, what is a 'blow-jo...'." Nihlus promptly shut his mouth as Starla or Starlya proceeded to show him what one was, and the Turian SPECTRE sat riveted to his seat as the Maiden worked his _vnark_ with her mouth, warmer and wetter than any Asari _azure_ , Turian _shavna_ , Drell _vulvi_ , Batarian _jan'dori_ , or Quarian _kanishi_ he had ever felt. It felt like the Spirits had opened up the heavens and let him have a go at it. It was, quite simply, the best fucking thing he had ever felt in his life.

 _Humans do this?_ Nihlus asked himself as he sank deeper into the chair of the private room, watching the Asari's crest bob up and down in a steady rhythm as he felt his passions building up in him, ready to breed. _You're right, Major; I will be thanking you later._

 _Thirty minutes later..._

Nihlus Kryik left the private room with his mandibles spread open a light year wide as he found several Maidens, Human females, and the lone Drell female employee standing in front of the private room door, all with worried looks on their face as he exited the private room.

"Goddess, what did you do to that Maiden? We could hear her screaming halfway across the club!" One of the Asari asked, dressed as a waitress. "She isn't dead, is she?"

"Possibly death by breeding." Nihlus confirmed, not at all ashamed. "She just gave me my first blow-job, and it was fucking incredible!" The Asari and the Drell all looked mystified as all the Human females began to chuckle and laugh, as if they all knew the same joke.

"I didn't even know Turians could be given a blowjob." One of the Human strippers commented, shaking her head. "I guess Turian chicks can't do it with their mandibles, fangs, and hard lips."

"What is this... blow-job?" One of the Asari asked curiously, and a Human waitress leaned over and explained it to the Asari waitress, whose face went from curiosity to stark amazement after moment, her cheeks going a very deep shade of violet. "Goddess... that works?"

"Honey, there isn't a guy I know who wouldn't kill for a woman who can give good head." One of the Human strippers replied with a chuckle, and the looked over to Nihlus. "Next time you're here, big guy, we'll hook you up with a pro instead of a virgin. You'll probably never leave this place."

"Hale... _thank you_."

* * *

Nihlus Kryik found Major Jennifer Hale sitting at a table with the blonde Human female he had seen with her earlier, both Humans drinking something out of glasses that were in front of them while the N7 Marine seemed to be splitting her time drinking, talking, putting one of her hands on the female next to her one some of her curves, and demolishing a plate of something that looked to be pieces of thin solid crackers covered in some yellow goop and mixed with crumbled chunks of meat that he had heard Humans called 'nachos'. He wasn't even sure if it were an animal or if it grew on a plant, but Human males seemed to love it. Watching Hale taking one of the thin crackers topped with the goop and the brown excretement-looking meat and shoving into her mouth like a gluttonous soul was almost positively revolting. Couldn't she be eating fried... what was that Earth creature called again? Rat? Those looked like _karmdals_ enough to make a pleasant snack. The N7 spied the SPECTRE and waved him over with her glass in one hand while sucking on each of her five stubby, dull talons. Despite that, he did go to the table and took a seat, looking at the yellow-fringed female next to the Major, who seemed not to have a completely resentful look upon her face at a Turian sharing their table. Well, that was a start.

"So, how'd it go, big guy?" Hale smiled as she was done making smacking noises with her horizontal mandibles, and he now realized just how flexable they were, able to curve around an object. He remembered what the Human strippers had said about Turian females mouths unable to do anything like that because of their mandibles, fangs, and hard lips. Interesting... who knew that Humanity could one-up the Asari when it came to all things sex? He wondered what other things besides blow-jobs Humanity had in store. He would have to look that one up.

"Best Spirits-be-damned thing ever." Nihlus didn't hold back at all with his answer, making the Major laugh outloud as the female next to her looked at them curiously, obviously not in the know. "Your friend isn't in on this secret?"

"Oh, this is Mallory. She works here on Pinnacle." The N7 informed him, as the woman nodded and smiled at him. "I got Nihlus his first blowjob." Hale informed the other female, who looked shocked at first, looked at the SPECTRE, and then began to laugh, though without as much gusto as the Marine.

"No wonder he looks so happy. If his mandibles went any wider, he'd be able to take flight." Mallory replied, making Hale laugh out loud again as she waved over to a Human waitress to get her attention, and pointed at Nihlus and did something with her hand that mimed her holding something and upending it in her mouth... she was getting him a drink! Well, that was nice of her.

"How your species ever discovered that..." The Turian shook his head, still smiling. "Come up with anything else like that, and I'll send a recommendation to the Three for a Human candidate for Counselship." Hale roared at that one, and Nihlus was pretty sure she was drunk. Well, why not join in?

"Oh, we've got some ideas." Mallory smiled conspiratorially, trying to hide her smile behind her stubby five talons and failing as Hale drained the rest of her drink. "Not that I know what Turian lasses can or can't do, but I'm pretty sure handjobs aren't one of them."

"Hand-job?" Nihlus wasn't too sure about that; Turian talons were meant for slashing and cutting. The thought of a Turian girl clutching at his _vnark_... he shuttered.

"Five-fingered hands, big guy, not talons and claws." The Major saved him from the horrifying thought as she wiggled one of her hands to indicate what she meant. "We also make lubercants and such to make it... even more pleasant. You'd have to ask a guy on that one, and make sure it won't react to dextro species." Hale snorted. "Dear God, I'm creating a monster. How the hell do you explain anal to a non-human?"

"Porn?" Mallory replied, unsure. _Anal?_ Nihlus had heard the term, but didn't know what it meant.

"Too graphic, probably scary." The N7 shook her head with a slight wince. "But a sixty-nine would be completely feasible. I don't know if the Blues know about lapping, but I think a Turian can do a tornado."

"Spirits, what are you two talking about? My translator doesn't explain words, just converts them!" To illustrate, the Major did something interesting with her talons and her mandibles; she took the first two of five talons and split them apart, and then proceeded to lay them against her horizontal mandibles while sticking her tongue in and out rapidly. Nihlus didn't get it... oh... oh _Spirits!_ "That _works_?"

"Oh yes it does." Hale folded her arms under the bulges of her chest with a smug look, casting a glance at Mallory, whose cheek-plates were turning red. "I swear to God I'm going to be pimping out a... Turian. Pimp Daddy J." That had the yellow-fringed female snort in amusement as a Human waitress came by with two Palavenian Pale Ales, as well as a refill for the N7.

 _Tonight is going to be a interesting night_ , Nihlus thought to himself as Hale began to talk about something called 'eatting pussy'.

* * *

A/N: Dear readers, especially of the female variety; this is a work of fiction. Try not to be offended by this chapter. It was meant to be humorous. Nihlus is a pusshound (which is not at all canon, as Nihlus was a bad Turian who had admiration for some of Humanity's endeavors).

And yes, Hale just did the hand signal for cunnigulus. If you haven't figured it out yet, Hale is into _la femme cuisine_.


	18. Hale: Nightmare

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 17: Hale, Nightmares

Pinnacle Station, Phoenix System, Argos Rho Cluster, March 31, 2183, 0212 Pinnacle

Major Jennifer Hale woke up screaming.

Her eyes bolted open as she laid on the bed, soaked in sweat, as she sat up quickly, every nerve electrified and ready for action as her hands went up for attack and defense, ready to kill. The redness that crept into the edges of her vision slowly dimmed as she found herself in a dark and unfamiliar room, occupying an unfamiliar bed, laying next to someone. Her breaths came fast and hard, her heart beating quickly in her chest as her eyes darted about the room for an enemy to attack, to end the threat. A few moments spent panting as she sat up had her calming down, her flesh chilled as the sweat on her skin cooled, leaving her shivering from both the temperature and the memories.

"Jen?" A feminine voice next to her startled the Marine as she looked at the pale figure of Mallory O'Grady, the female concierge of the Companion Loft, and the Major remembered where she was and why; the bed and room were Mallory's, and they had spent the previous evening indulging in passionate companionship. It was a temporary relationship that both knew and understood well; Hale could see the tell-tale signs of hero worship in the redhead's eyes as the concierge took her out on a date, hanging off her arm and offering to buy dinner and drinks. Jen had finally whittled Mallory into going Dutch, feeling bad for having the woman buy for her when she was being paid as a frocked Commander, and undoubtedly earned more than a concierge for a Companion Loft on Pinnacle Station. The night had ended up in Mallory's small apartment where both women, neither of them sober, had barely made it to the bedroom as clothing was torn and tossed off, an alcohol-fueled night of sex and passion ensuing. Mallory had seemed to enjoy the experience, cooing her name as her nails ran red farrows into Hale's skin at the height of ecstacy, and Jen was pretty sure the woman wasn't faking it. She certainly wasn't a virgin to the affections of either a woman or a man.

"I'm... I'm fine." Hale muttered softly, her voice groggy from both sleep and nightmares, the nightly incident nothing new. While most of humanity understood what Post Tramatic Stress Disorder was, none truly understood unless they lived with a terrible event, and lived with the aftermath. Over a century of psychologists had done wonders in finding better ways of dealing with such trauma, from therapy to medications, but in the end it always came down to the victim willing to deal with it themselves. For Major Jennifer Hale, it was her night terrors, waking up sweating and screaming, something that shamed her. How could one survive such a terrible ordeal as she and then be expected to relive it every night, as if fresh and new? How many years in the military had she woken up in the female quarters, having woken up other female officers on the same shift as she with her screams and panic attacks? Jannie... Jannie had understood, slipping into her bed when they were teenagers to comfort her, holding her tight as Jen shivered in fear and pain, a traumatized young woman still coming to grips with her survival. If it hadn't been for her adopted sister, the Daughter of Mindoir doubted she would have found a way to deal with her pain and grief, to be as functional as she was. Jen laid back down on the bed, laying a forearm against her sweating head, cursing her night terrors as a pair of arms softly slid around her, holding her close.

"After all these years...?" The concierge asked quietly, compassion filling her voice as she held the Marine, not specifying. There were few humans that didn't know that the Butcher of Torfan was also one of the few survivors of Mindoir; almost any mention of Hale's name on the news linked both incidents together. "I... I had no idea, Jen. Is there anything...?"

"Believe me, if I haven't found a solution after thirteen years, there isn't a solution to be found." Hale replied softly, trying her best to make sure the words weren't hurtful or condesending. Mallory was trying, after all, ignorant but helpful. "Just... if you don't mind, I rather not talk about it. Leave my nightmares where they belong; in my head, not out in the open."

"If you wish." The concierge replied, obviously not believing in the rhetoric that Jen told herself, but not willing to fight about it; they had a good thing going on, and she didn't want to spoil it. "How much longer will you be staying on Pinnacle?"

"Dunno. We've been here for almost seven days, I'd have thought we'd be gone by now. Every day a blessing, I guess." Jen thought of the old Marine Corps mantra taught to both boot camp recruits and OCS Cadets; every meal a banquet, every paycheck a fortune, every formation a parade, every day a blessing. It had a darker connotation; enjoy life while you could. "If we get orders, we'll probably pull out within a few hours. When that is and where it will be is anyone's guess. Until then, it's training and learning how not to ram my new ship into anything stupid." That had Mallory giggle a little bit as one of her hands slid from Jen's tapered waist upward, cupping one of her breasts.

"Well, if you can command a ship as well as you command a bed, I think you'll have no problems at all." The woman's voice went husky again as she slipped a thigh onto one of Hales' legs, rubbing it up and down as her other hand slid lower, running down her toned abdomen, where three old circular wounds laid, and heading further south. "Since we are up, perhaps I can give you a few other things to dream about at night?"

"You certainly are a little minx, aren't you?" The Marine asked slyly, cleverly not mentioning to the concierge that she was nowhere near the first woman to entice her with the promise of better dreams, a moment to forget the past. It never worked; cheap, meaningless, casual sex never solved anything. Well, almost anything. It certainly did help easing the tension, helped answer that primitive need that boiled down to procreation. Mallory certainly wasn't shy or inexperienced as Hale felt her body ache for that release her body was beginning to crave, and all thoughts of Mindoir subsided as she pulled the concierge closer to relish in the physical act while she still could.

Every day was a blessing, after all.

* * *

Morning for Pinnacle Station came all too soon, in Major Jennifer Hale's mind as she dressed in her DSU's, the Alliance Blue uniform now bearing her frocked rank of Commander upon her shoulder boards. She had quietly gotten dressed in Mallory O'Grady's bathroom while the concierge was still sleeping, needing to report to the SSV Normandy in the next hour for a meeting with Captain David Anderson. She had put on the CATsuit, pants, boots, and blouse quickly and expertly, a decade of practice making perfect as Hale looked into the mirror of Mallory's bathroom, looking upon her own reflection. She looked at the scar that bisected her face, given to her on Torfan as the result of an explosive booby trap. Her finger traced the scar, the memory of the Combat Simulation Arena still fresh in her mind as she thought of the scenario, and how it ended. She still wanted to give Admiral Ahern a piece of both her mind and her boot, but he was an Admiral and she a frocked Commander; that would be a conversation she wouldn't win. Her fingers went from the scar to the shoulder boards where a silver oak leaf decorated each, facing vertically in Navy fashion, as oppose to horizontally, as Marines did. Hale fingered one of the oak leaves, seeing the Navy insignia, indicating her rank in a service she hadn't joined. Alongside the oak leaves were single silver stars to the outside, marking her in a command position; sailors and Marines would know her to be an Executive Officer of a ship, as oppose to gold stars that would mark her as a commander of a vessel, such as a Cutter-Class, Corvette-Class or even a Frigate-Class vessel. She fingered the star as well.

 _Still can't believe it._ Hale thought to herself as her brown eyes traced over the rank and silver command star, and it wasn't lost on her that she was now the same rank as her adopted sister, save that Jannie had gold stars on her shoulder boards, the Commanding Officer of a Corvette, the SSV _Lionheart_. It, like its Commanding Officer and fifty-seven personnel, had been missing for just over four years, off on an ONI-sanctioned mission into the Skyllian Verge to a planet called Sidon. Something had happened to facility in which Commander Jane Shepard had been ordered to search, something to do with the possibility of illegal AI research. The facility had been hit, but all traces of the _Lionheart_ and its crew disappeared afterwards. No information could be gleaned from the facility, the whereabouts of the _Lionheart_ , or where they might have went after. There was no comms buoys, no space debris, no wreckage... nothing. After two months of intense searching, the Alliance had finally declare the _Lionheart_ and its crew MIA. That was four years ago.

 _But I haven't given up looking,_ Hale thought to herself as she finished fingering her new rank, her new command... her new direction. Commander, Executive Officer, SPECTRE candidate. _What the hell am I doing?_ The Marine shook her head as she pulled her military blouse straight, giving herself a final once-over in the mirror before donning her green beret with its Special Operations flash to compliment the N7 badge that was pinned over her heart. _At least I look the part._ Jen snorted to herself before she turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom, sparing Mallory a soft kiss on her sleeping cheek before she departed the apartment, leaving a note of gratitude on the dresser beside the concierge.

The Major stalked down the halls of Pinnicle Station, and despite that it was yet 0600 Pinnacle, there were already several members of the military roaming up and down its halls, high-ranking officers and enlisted members that showed up first before their subordinates did, to start up some paperwork or go over whatever had come up the night before. Hale herself was like that, usually going in for early physical training, a little time on the range, or to update her personnel files. She never wanted to give her men the impression that she somehow didn't take her job seriously, and showing up earlier than everyone else was one way to do so. Everyone on the Normandy was on light rotation since the ship was docked with Pinnacle, and her Marines were doing a training exercise in the Combat Simulation Arena the past two days, as well as today. Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo was integrating 1st Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko with her platoon of Marines, showing him the ropes while seeing what he could do. Hale had hopes for Alenko; he was a good sailor with a good head on his shoulders. If anyone could make him more effective, it was the Typhoon of Eden Prime. Hell, Paula Maldonaldo had done the same with her when she was just a butterbar Marine with more anger than sense.

Hale made her way to the Normandy, meeting up with Captain Anderson for some updates when she practically ran into Agent Saren Arterius who had come from another hallway that would lead them to the Normandy's dock. The Turian looked a little amused at the almost collision, and Jen didn't doubt for a second that either Saren was going to be in on the meeting, or perhaps was a part of it. Neither would surprise her.

"I guess we're just going to have to enjoy each others' company for a bit longer." Hale told the Turian as they walked down the corridor together, her voice amused as she looked over the grey-plated Turian, wondering if their military's held the same beliefs about rising early. "We going to this meeting together? Or is there anything else I should know besides Nihlus' attempt to out-populate humans on Pinnacle through breeding?" That had the Turian SPECTRE chuckle, obviously well aware of his partner's propensity of being a pusshound. Of course, Turians had different views of casual sex than humans had, but as Jen understood it, even Nihlus was going above and beyond the Turian mindset.

"We've gotten orders, Major. All will be explained inside the Normandy." Saren spoke softly, not wishing to be overheard by the few who occupied the halls, though there was no one else heading towards the Frigate. "I shall also take up some of your time, if you could spare some, of course."

"Shouldn't be an issue." Hale replied with a casual nod of her head as they walked towards the Normandy. "I guess it was too much hope to ask for a few more days off. I have the feeling that our futures are probably going to be quite busy for the forseeable time. Do SPECTREs get off days?"

"Of course." The Turian scoffed as they walked through an opening door, reaching the dock that the Frigate-Class stealth ship was berthed. "For the most part, being a SPECTRE isn't too different from being in the military or C-Sec. The Counsel trusts us to act accordingly, but they also trust us to recognize when we need some down time to keep the stress and weariness from having us make mistakes or making bad judgment calls. Most SPECTREs call the Citadel home, and most of our mundane work happens there. Though, more often than not, we are on our vessels, going from one place to another, chasing leads and hunting scum who have a meeting with a bullet."

"Does sound like my life." Hale admitted as they walked up the gangplank, entering through the Frigate's airlock as the decontamination cycle began, bombarding them with weak microwaves to kill any possible bacteria and infections they may have collected on their skin and clothes. It was a one minute procedure that Hale never relished doing, but had long since resigned herself to such protocols. There certainly wasn't any decons on Mindoir when she was a child, and that had been humans living on a foreign celestial body! "I admit, the sound of being able to travel and explore to wherever your heart wishes does sound rather romantic. Traveling the stars in a military vessel loses its appeal when you're stuck in bulkheads for weeks and months on in. Being able to just planet-jump and land somewhere you've never seen before? That must be appealing."

"It is, though sometimes it is difficult to remember as such." The Turian admitted as the decon cycle finished, the inner airlock door opening for them, admitting them onto the main deck of the Normandy. "Still, it is a good way to remember what you are fighting for; to preserve what is beautiful in the galaxy. For some, it's natural sites, or art, or culture."

"What do you do it for, if you don't mind me asking?" The Human Marine looked at the Turian as they walked down the mostly empty deck, crewed only by a lone watch officer that was attached to Pinnacle; all of the Normandy's personnel were either on leave, in training scenarios, or catching up on paperwork on Pinnacle.

"I... I must admit, I use to do it because I wished to protect the Hierarchy from the threats that humanity represented." Hale felt herself stop cold in her tracks as Saren continued on a few steps before realizing the N7 wasn't walking forward anymore. She felt her brain repeating what the SPECTRE had just told her. He thought humanity a threat, after what the Turians did on Shanxi? The Turian fleets were the most powerful in the galaxy, and their military outnumbered everyone else's, and he thought that humans were threatening? "I won't lie, Hale; for a long time, I had a very low opinion of humanity in general, mostly due to Shanxi and the actions of a few humans that managed to capture me temporarily. It was because of those chain of events that my brother and Clan Elder, Desolas, was killed."

"I... didn't know." Jen admitted softly, frowning. "What changed your mind?"

"There were small things that made me reconsider the strength of my convictions," Saren began, "but what ultimately changed my mind was you."

"Wha... wait, I changed your mind?" Hale asked incredulously.

"Before, I never really spent the time knowing any member of your species save one, the one who was partially responsible for my brothers' death." The SPECTRE told her, facing her. "I didn't want to know any members of your species. Yet ever since the Counsel selected me to evaluate potential human SPECTRE candidates, I've learned a little bit more about your species, Commander. I see in others the same traits that I see in my own kind; its heroes, its villains, its bravery and cowardice. Most have not impressed me, yet the more I learn of you, the more I see the potential that your kind can reach. Was that not the same that was asked of us during the Krogan Rebellion? From our fleets when we patrol Citadel Space? From our SPECTREs? I see examples in your species that have made me reconsidered the human race as a whole, but the best example that I've seen is you, Hale. Perhaps seeing what a human can achieve gives me hope that there will be more that will follow your example, especially if and when you become Humanity's First SPECTRE."

"That's... a lot to live up to." Hale admitted out loud, shivering a little. She hadn't thought about that, that being a SPECTRE would put her on a pedestal that her adopted sister Jane Shepard was put on after the Assault on Elysium. Could she live up to such expectations, to be a Hero of Humanity that Jannie had been? The thought was daunting. "Was that the way it was for you? I've heard that you were the youngest-inducted Turian SPECTRE."

"I was, but I was hardly the first Turian SPECTRE, nor was I as notorious at the beginning of my career." The Turian Biotic admitted. "Come, or we'll be late with our meeting with Captain Anderson." To that, Jen nodded as they walked the rest of the way through the Normandy's CIC and to its communications room. There, the Black Fox waited alongside Nihlus Kryik, the Navy Captain and the Turian SPECTRE sitting on the available seats of the communications room, conversing quietly about weapons, it seemed. When Hale and Saren arrived, both of them looked to the entering parties, their conversation dying as Captain Anderson smiled at her, and even Nihlus did a Turian grin with his mandibles. Something was going on, Hale knew, but their smiles and what Saren had told her had her less inclined to worry. She doubted there would be bad news if SPECTREs were smiling, after all.

"So are we playing the guessing game, or are we getting down to business?" The Major asked, looking to Saren, then Nihlus, and finally to the Black Fox. "All of you look like the cat that caught the canary. And I don't think Turians even know what cats and canaries are."

"We've gotten our orders for your SPECTRE candidacy evaluation, Commander." Captain Anderson informed her after getting a nod from Saren Arterius, as he was still her commanding officer. "The Counsel has been informed of a find on Eden Prime, one that has got everyone's panties in a bunch." That earned him a snort from Nihlus, who evidently understood the human euphemism. "Jen... a team of construction workers that were excavating a site for a building have uncovered something monumental.

"They uncovered what appears to be an intact, fully-functional Prothean Data Beacon."

"Hoo-lee shit." Hale sputtered out, her mouth outracing her mind as the implication of what Captain Anderson began to work through her brain, as well as all that it implied. A Prothean Data Cache? The last major discovery had been the Mars Archives back in '47, but before that... there hadn't been a major discovery in something like six hundred years. Sure, sometimes Data Disks and Memory Shards were found, but they were usually corrupted beyond the point of usefulness. An intact Beacon? A functional one? That would garner the interest of anyone, foul and fair. That last Beacon, some computer-like terminal that still had power, had sparked a small war between some various Attican Warlords and Citadel forces, if Hale remembered the historical account correctly; the Beacon had been destroyed by a Batarian ship that had come to the conclusion that if it was going to be too difficult to take, then no one would have it. Its contents had been lost forever.

Hale had a pretty good idea what her orders were going to be.

"So, pick-up?" The SPECTRE candidate asked, looking to the three males in the room with her, getting a nod from all of them. "Jesus. This is really going to be a shitstorm wrapped up and covered in lies, isn't it? I wouldn't think this sounds like a mission for SPECTREs, but..."

"Normally it wouldn't be." Saren Arterius started, nodding his head. "It's good that you can recognize such things, but the Counsel has some concerns. The discovery was made perhaps a week ago, but we've just learn of this. Such information can garner the interest of those less inclined to go through proper channels, and out-right theft of the device. We may never know what the workers may have done to it, if it has been accessed, if information has been taken from it, or even if someone has tried to sabotage it. Certain parties, such as the Batarian Hegemony and the Shadow Broker, offer substantial monetary rewards for information leaning to Prothean technology and information, a reward large enough to make those of ill-repute to make a grab for the device at the cost of starting a war. The quicker we can go in, secure the device, and move it to the location that the Counsel has set up for the team they are now gathering to discover its contents, the better."

"Wouldn't it be safer to leave it on site?" Hale asked, her tone concerned. "I'm by no means an expert on Prothean tech or Beacons, but doesn't removal come with the risk of damage or activating some sort of defense mechanism? I'm certainly not looking forward to being the one responsible for accidentally damaging a Beacon because pulling it out of the ground caused it to overload and blow up."

"It's a concern that we brought up." Nihlus assured, nodding his head. "We ourselves will not be removing the device, though we will be responsible for transporting it. The team that Saren has already mentioned will be the ones to interact and dismantle such concerns. It is our job to make sure that no one else is on site, that no other parties are involved, and that it makes it to the Athena Nebula safely. The Counsel understands that Beacons are sensitive devices, and that a certain risk presents itself. Our concern is that it is protected from malicious use and nefarious contact. That is where we come in. As SPECTREs, it will be our job to secure the Beacon itself, to monitor the Protheantoligist team for proper conduct, transportation upon the Normandy, and then relocating it to the station that is ran by the Serrice University, where Prothean experts will conduct their investigations. It will also give us a chance to monitor you as a potential SPECTRE, to see you work in a variety of means. Normally, this is not something we do, as our job generally involves action and skill as oppose to eggsitting some science types. Yet as SPECTREs, we are expected to complete the mission given to us, no matter what that mission entails. We already know how you will conduct yourself in battle and war. Now this gives us an opportunity to see you work under other conditions, something that is out of normal circumstances. While we have no reservations about your performance, completing this mission will look well for you, Commander, as it will prove to more than just us that you can do well to secure peace as well as fight in war. Something like this is of galactic note, and we are pleased that as your races' first inductee, something of this note would confirm a good deal of hopes and bury a good deal of reservations of humanity's role in one swift action."

"Okay, that I get." Hale replied, and it made sense. Who knew what missions she might be asked to do as a SPECTRE? Something this important was more than she was use to dealing with, but wasn't that the point of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance? A Prothean Beacon was a high-value item for just about anyone; who knew what could be on there? Information? Technology? Something more sinister? Sending a SPECTRE to make sure it wasn't accessed by the wrong people seemed to be the better policy than sending a fleet; discretion was a better policy than strength at times. They could have sent anyone else, but that the Beacon was on a Human colony, and there were Human SPECTRE candidates, the Counsel had essentially given it to her and Meer, with the Turians in tow as their mentors so they could prove themselves. She looked at Saren, then at Nihlus, and then at David. "Where's Meer? You said this was a SPECTRE mission, and obviously you are including me..."

"Lieutenant Commander Meer will be with the rest of the _Normandy's_ personnel upon the vessel while we three land upon Eden Prime and secure the site for the incoming Protheanologist team." Arterius replied coldly, his mandibles flickering slightly, suggesting that he was angry about something. "Meer's candidacy as a SPECTRE has essentially been null-and-void due to a variety of issues and questionable actions on his behalf that we discovered with the bugging programs we uploaded into both of your Omnitools after your selection."

"You bugged us? ...Okay, I get that." Hale corrected herself, wondering why she hadn't thought of that before. If the SPECTREs were here to monitor them, of course they would monitor their inbound and outbound electronic traffic. She wondered just how good the bugs were; did they spy on every word they said? "These bugs were recording us all the time?"

"All SPECTREs have them." Nihlus answered easily enough. "And no worries, Hale; only we have access to them, and they will not be forwarded to anyone else for any reason. We understand that you may have qualms over the privacy issues that can cause, but they are not meant to spy, but to monitor activities, as well as forwarding any intelligence in the case of our demise. We are not concerned with the going-ons that one conducts with their own personal life, and if it makes you feel better, Saren was the only one to view them and deleted them when he found nothing of worrying relevance upon them, as I viewed Meer's... initially."

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I'm better off not knowing anything else." Hale scratched herself behind one of her ears, a little uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation. She knew that Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer was an asshat, and it sounded like the SPECTREs found something (or perhaps more than just one something) that showed him to be what she had assumed all these years. The thought of being bugged did bother her, with her night terrors and some of her personal recreational activities brought to light. But she understood that the SPECTREs were doing their jobs, were monitored in the same fashion as herself, and were doing their best to respect her more private decisions and times, only Saren viewing such things as oppose to both of them. It was still a little unnerving, but was it really that different from, say, the Office of Naval Intelligence with their informants, hackers, and cameras? If there had been another Human SPECTRE, it might have been him or her that would be doing this and viewing Hale at all times. Perhaps it was a little easier with someone not exactly human. She found herself looking at Saren, at his no-nonsense attitude and stoic face, and strangely enough, Jen felt a little better at the thought of Arterius being her 'mentor'. He had mentioned multiple times his level of respect for her, and nothing indicated that it had gone down in any way. She would talk to him about some of the things he saw, if only to rest the unease in her mind. If she understood it correctly, both SPECTREs probably went through Meers' recordings with a fine-tooth comb after Nihlus was alerted to something that he apparently did not enjoy discovering. They wouldn't be talking to her now if they had issues with whom she spent her time with, probably the only questionable activity she indulged in; something that the Alliance still bore down upon to this very day. Surprisingly, the more she thought about it, the better she felt that it was Saren; strange thought. "Okay, so Meer's more or less kicked to the curb. Not exactly crying over that. Anything else I need to know pertaining to the mission? Should we be getting anything special in the way of equipment or weaponry for this? I wouldn't think so, but that's why I have you guys; I get to pick your brains for this kind of thing."

"Very true." Saren nodded, his mandibles quirking in a small, fast, Turian smile. "The current armaments of the _Normandy_ and its crew is more than sufficient for most normal objectives. You yourself are prepared for even the most of unusual circumstances, though you have little in the way of anti-biotic capabilities, and you lack some of the more powerful code and hacks that Nihlus and myself possess. Having said that, we will outfit you with what you need from our own stores as the need arises, one of them being an advanced Omnitool that many SPECTREs wear to help compensate their lack of programming and hacking knowledge. It is fitted with the latest back-door access codes, master code root password insertions, and firewall-disabling decryption protocols that give those of us with little talent for the art of computer exploitation the advantage. I'll be sure to issue you your at the end of this meeting."

"Wow." Hale felt a little heady as she realized what Saren was really telling her; she was, for all tense and purposes, already a SPECTRE, approved by the two Turians that the Counsel sent to monitor and select Humanity's First SPECTRE. Hell, Saren admitted that, while not very impressed with Humanity in general, was easily able to look at her in a far more favorable light. The little colony girl with the bad past and bad reputation was practically a SPECTRE. One look at Captain David Anderson's face showed her that the Black Fox was all smiles, having arrived at the same conclusions as she was. Though he probably couldn't say anything, he was witnessing what was undoubtedly going to be the day Humanity itself got to stand up and be recognized among the galaxy, with her at the lead.

She wished Jannie was there to see her now.

* * *

Major Jennifer Hale stood in the cargo bay of the SSV _Normandy_ , several hours before recall, having left the meeting between Saren Arterius, Nihlus Kryik, and Captain David Anderson only fifteen minutes before. She had went to her personal armament locker down in the cargo bay and opened it up, looking upon the tools of her trade with a strange sense of euphoria. Her weapon selection was one of utility and efficiency, one made over many years of battle and precision. Though she generally carried her personally-owned and paid-for M-55 Argus that had cost her well over twenty thousand Citadel Credits, she actually owned five different assault rifles and battle rifles; her N7 Valkyrie Assault Rifle, an N7 M-99 Sabre, a heavily-modified Hadne Keder M8 Avenger Mk. 4, and a good, old-fashioned scoped M96 Mattock. She ran her hands down the Mattock, remembering how it had served her on Torfan, its' single shot capability able to break through most kinetic shielding and pierce armor with a few pulls of the trigger. It was a great weapon to carry, even if it were a bit bulky and heavy for most. Still, she had wielded the Mattock through more engagements than any of her other weapons, the Argus only having its day in the sun for perhaps the past two years, back when she was in command of the 2nd TRU under Admiral Ahern. It was a little bit more powerful than the Mattock, and fired a three-round burst as opposed to a single shot with each pull of the trigger. It had taken Jen probably about fifty or so hours of practice to get proficient with the powerful Turian Battle Rifle that the Hierarchy usually only issued to its Heavy Infantry Teams, the weapon considered a little bit overkill even for the Turians. She loved its recoil though, the power behind the weapon undeniable as it would pierce and break kinetic shielding, armor, ablative coating, and whomever she was taking aim at. It did well against almost anything she had ever ran across, even Krogan. Nothing had survived two bursts of the weapon from her.

Along with her rifles was her collection of pistols, shotguns, sub-machine guns, and sniper rifles, each with its own advantages and purpose. To say that she was a gun aficionado was only slightly correct; guns were the tools of her trade, and she was a master of her craft. She had also owned three complete sets of armor, as well as modular pieces that could be connected for a variety of situations and missions. Armax Arsenal and Hadne Keder made good all-round armor for most military types, while Aldrin Labs had come out recently with a more advanced line of armor that most N's were being issued, though line Marines were generally stuck with Elkoss Combine crap that, while completely affordable, was as good as the money one paid for.

"A Credit for your thoughts?"

Jen turned her head to see Saren standing there, leaning against one of the bulkheads of the _Normandy_ , not too far from her but obviously giving her space as she looked back to her locker, the weapons and armor that she had collected over the years, saved for and paid for to make her what she truly was; a titan on the battlefield. She briefly wondered what kind of armor SPECTREs wore, and how good their weapons were. Would she trade her M-55 Argus for a Spectre Gear weapon? Her Aldrin Labs Onyx Interceptor Armor for Spectre Gear armor? If such things would be available to her, then she would have to practice and learn their benefits, their advantages, and the little things that made it more effective. It would be time well-spent.

"Just... thinking." Hale replied softly as she pulled out her Rosenkov Materials Armageddon Series 4 Shotgun, setting it to one side while fingering a few of the mods that were stored in the cubbie holes of her locker; there was a swapable passive scanner that replaced the weapons auto-targeting software for ballistic assessment, a recoil dampener that could be installed into the butt of the weapon, and micro-Omnigel minifacturer that coated rounds with a variety of effects such as Squash Rounds, Armor Piercing, and the ever-popular but highly-restricted Incendiary Rounds. "You know, I've been fighting slavery and its proponents for so long, taking up a mission that sounds like a cake walk seems surreal to me. No pirates, no raiders, no ships with rockets or folks running around, screaming in pain. I was just looking at my weapons and thinking to myself, 'gee, what do I use for guard duty'?"

"Actually, I thought the same thing myself when we received this mission!" The Turian SPECTRE chuckled as he pulled out from a hard case in his armor a bracelet that looked to be an Omnitool, though the miniaturized on-board computer looked a good deal bulkier than her Alliance-issued Arrest Logic Omnitool. "I've pre-loaded it with your bio-metrics so only you can access it, as well as installing several war apps, hacks and code, and high-function VI that will run many of the programs for you at your spoken word."

"That's snazzy." Jen accepted the Omnitool, and turned it on, its holographic GUI interface showing a small display screen that indeed showed several apps that looked to be offensively capable. One caught her eye. "Electroshock Defense Field?"

"Handy while in hand-to-hand. Especially with Krogan, and very effective against Biotics." Saren replied with a nod, making Hale grunt in acknowledgement. "Both Nihlus and myself shall begin training you on some of your duties as a SPECTRE while going over some of the conditions of our office. A word of advice? Forget everything you've seen in a Blasto movie or any other Vid. I've seen them all, and none of them come close to identifying what it means to be a SPECTRE, or even what we do."

"Got it." Jen nodded as she slipped the Omnitool bracelet on her left wrist, still leaving her Alliance-issued one on. Her Logic Arrest had some personally-made apps on it that were handy for cracking door interfaces, a password generator program that still did the trick for most computers and password-encrypted programs, and a nasty app that created an Omnigel blade for last ditch situations, tailored to her specifications. It could actually create a good many tools needed in a pinch, such as prying, drilling, and sawing, but she liked the old Turian app for its ability to make a diamond-sharp knife for up-close-and-personal work as well as its intimidation factor. Besides, there was nothing saying she couldn't have two Omnitools running; Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko actually ran one on each arm, one primarily for offensive capabilities while the other was strictly for electronic exploitation. He had written his own app that could access anothers' armor VI and get it to purge its Kinetic Shielding, disabling the shields while shocking the person in question. Hale would have to see if she could snaggle that from the Biotic Lieutenant, who had a much higher-grade Savant Omnitool with a higher processing core than her own Logic Arrest. She didn't doubt her new fancy SPECTRE Omnitool could probably handle the war-app.

"Commander, I want to apologize to you."

"What for?" The Human Marine looked to Saren, tearing her attention from the new Omnitool to the Turian that was only a couple of meters away, his expression... saddened. "If it's about what you saw at the Combat Simulation Arena..." Jen knew that Saren and Nihlus had both watched when she had seen the facsimile of her younger self in the simulation, and... she hadn't handled it well. Having the Turians witness that had bothered her, though they had gratefully not said a word about it.

"Yes, but not about that." The SPECTRE replied softly. "What I saw made me think of myself, Commander. I had an epiphany during the Arena, as well as after. I've come to realize that you fight what you fear most; slavery. It's no surprise that you probably fear nothing more than to be captured by slavers, and what would result afterward. I remember Fleet Master Grissom mentioning this after the Board." Hale remained mute at the comment, but neither did she make any suggestion for the Turian to stop. "I... admire that in you, Hale. You fight against a great evil not only in your own heart, but an evil that everyone perceives. I am ashamed to admit that I have never taken such an action against slavery. Yes, I have raided a few slaver outposts, but there were no slaves there, and the men themselves were generally unprepared for my planned ambushes. You go after them when they are their strongest, rescuing slaves at their lowest moments. I am not generally impressed with humanity in itself, but when I see you, think of all you have done... I can't help but wonder what more I could do, how much harder I could try. I may be a SPECTRE, but I do not match to your efforts, and it shames me to think that I use to think your kind barbaric and weak. Perhaps a majority of them are, but comparing myself to you, I can't help but wonder how much a fool am I."

"Saren..." Hale sighed as she looked to the Armageddon Shotgun she had placed leaning against her locker, her favored shotgun for sweeping inside buildings and clearing rooms. "You can't compare yourself to me, because you've had a different life than I. I'm not even going to go into the differences between Turian society and Human society. That you wish that you could do more is nice, but that you try to do more is better. I've turned myself into a sort of weapon, spent years training myself into this image that I wanted myself to be. I could have been a monster, some thug who gets off killing slavers left and right like the media likes to portray, but that isn't what I wanted for myself. I don't do this to be a hero, or some kind of crusader. I simply do this because there are people out there that were like me once; young, innocent, and naive. They don't have to like me or understand me for me to do my job. As long as there is some asshole out there who thinks he can take advantage of good people, that his shit don't stink and the galaxy is his oyster, then he'd best check over his shoulder to make sure I'm not coming up behind him with a shit-eating grin and an arsenal at my disposal. That, that you do, SPECTRE. You fight for what is good, and that is enough in itself. Like what you told me about that Turian who went to the Counsel, Karlus Korvar. He stood up for what he believed in. I stand up for what I believe in. Do you feel that way?"

"I... I do not know." The Turian admitted after a moment's contemplation. "After my brothers' death, I was about ending the threat, and I was good at it. Some calls I made were tough, and the Counsel acknowledged that I made the right ones, ones that while it ensured the success of the mission, it did not ensure the safety of those who might have been in the way."

"Your hostage scenario." Hale nodded, remembering their conversation in her room. "What changed?"

"Mostly... Nihlus." Saren admitted. "He was my protege, a Blackwatch Talon whom I believed would emulate me. He, too, fought in the Relay 314 Incident, and I thought if there was anyone that would... mirror my beliefs and views of humanity, it would have been him, as he lost his father in the Incident." That surprised the N7; she hadn't known that, and wouldn't have suspected it, either. "Yet Nihlus didn't agree with me, didn't see eye-to-eye in my thoughts of humans. He admires and respects your species for its tenacity and cleverness. He did a better job than I of remembering that every species once had to forge their own path in the stars, making mistakes and adapting new beliefs that had to include the fact that there were other races in the galaxy. I think the rest of us have forgotten that fact, since we've known of sentient life in the galaxy for millennia, while for your species, it has been a mere... thirty years?"

"Thirty-six, if you start with the discovery of the Mars Archives." Hale replied, taking the Armageddon in hand. "Twenty-six from the destruction of the Science and Exploration Vessel _Minosa_ back in '57." Her replied had the Turian grunt, but she hadn't used any tone to indicate how she felt about the action that occured when she was but three years old.

"Within your lifetime." Saren nodded his head, using the evidence to validate his point. "Turians have been a part of this galaxy for over fifteen hundred years, and the next species to come forth were the Quarians almost a thousand years ago. We've forgotten what it feels like to look out into space and not know, to not understand. Also, your species also achieved the stars on its own, as oppose to many of us, who were uplifted by either the Asari or the Salarians. Only those two, Humanity, and the Batarians were able to achieve Relay translation on its own without assistance from the galactic species, and of those four, it is interesting to note that there were no Prothean ruins or beacons upon your planet, unlike the other three. You had to explore farther and risk more to reach this far, and you've done it faster than any of the others, as Nihlus has pointed out to me on a few occasions."

"Well, what can I say? We don't fuck around." Hale shrugged her shoulders as she shouldered her Armageddon. "Now unless you feel like getting into yet another shooting match with me, I'm going to go practice my long range shotgun marksmanship."

"We'll talk later." Saren promised with a nodding head. "When we are underway, myself and Nihlus will give you some interim classes that you will take when you are accepted as a SPECTRE. I feel that it would be best to prepare you now, to give yourself a chance to learn and grow into the role of Humanity's First SPECTRE."

* * *

A/N: So I had to come up with a reason why Shepard was missing, when, where and something about how. If you've read or know about Mass Effect: Revelation, then you know that bare-bones premise.

Currently, there are a great many countries to do not look favorably upon the idea of same-sex relationships, and almost all militaries look down upon it even further. For the American Military, though the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy was recended, it is still a rather taboo subject. Why this is still an issue some 170 years later will be explained.


	19. Arterius: Mission Brief

**Arterius: Misson Brief**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 18: Arterius, Mission

SSV _Normandy,_ Argos Rho Cluster, April 01, 2183, 0843 Zulu

Counsel Agent Saren Arterius stood in what was known as the galley as humans sat down at the tables that represented the eating area of the SSV _Normandy_ with alumnisteel trays laden with levo-chilary food, some of it looking absolutely revolting to Saren's Turian eyes. That the human Sailors and Marines ate some sort of wheat germ raised by a mold into some light, fluffy substance known as biscuits didn't seem that bad, but they topped it off with some brown sludge mixed with hardened chips of meat that looked too similar to Turian defecation. In fact, the Humans called it by a likened name! _Shit on a Shingle_ , Saren forced himself not to shake his head publicly at the sight, wondering what a shingle was. The food selection that Humans ate was preposterous; not one _gar'glek_ to feat upon, nor some _shu-vhesha_ to sweeten the flavor of the animal with the cloying tubers. The humans ate tubers, some brown rock-looking thing that was white on the inside, destroying it first by decimating it into almost a paste-like substance, and then dolloping some sort of creamy yellow substance that would melt on it. _Mashed potatoes and butter,_ the Turian grunted mentally at the name, _even if I were a levo-chilary species, I would not try to stomach Human food. They don't even swallow stones!_ That confused the SPECTRE more than anything; how did Humans digest their food properly? Turians had both a stomach and a gullet for more efficient digestion, as did the Krogan, Salarians, Elcor, and Batarians. Perhaps Humanity was closer to the Asari than they realized, the Thessians being one of the very few species that did not possess a gullet. Of course, one did not suggest to an Asari that _they_ were perhaps in the wrong; Thessians lived and breathed the thought that they were the most advanced, most highly evolved species in the galaxy. Trouble was, there were some facts that were hard to ignore that supported that theory.

"Not a big fan of our food, huh?"

Saren turned to see Commander Jennifer Hale standing beside him, looking onto her shipmates as they ate, filling the bench seat of the tables, covering the tables' surface with their trays and cups of steaming black liquid Humans called _coffee_. Coffee he knew of; it was such a staple of the human morning that if the machine that manufacture it went down, there was a high probability that someone was going to die soon, regardless of fault. He once looked up to see if there was perhaps a narcotic in the substance, or if it perhaps induced some hallucinogenic property that supported the addiction that seemed to manifest itself in every human being. He was shocked to discovered that it contained none of those things, not even alcohol! How could non-narcotic, non-alcoholic liquid produce such a result? He had almost thought it a STG conspiracy, except that coffee had existed on Earth for centuries. Humans, Saren decided, were weird.

"No comment." The Turian replied finally, scrunching up his snout at the smells of human food that infected the galley, some of the odors almost nauseating. Thankfully, Hale had discovered that Turians couldn't stand the sight (or smell) of human food, and had their meals prepared before the dining times of the humans to alleviate such concerns. It also helped the humans out, too; Saren remembered the first time he ate in front of one of the _Normandy_ personnel, ripping into a _kama_ as it squealed and thrashed in his talons, and the female sailor had immediately ejected her stomach contents on the deck as he licked the blood off his talons. He hadn't realized that humans ate _dead_ animals. Barbaric. Asari ate their fish raw, Salarians consumed some sort of bug-like creature by splitting open its carapace while it was still alive, and Krogan... well, Krogan ate anything and everything, living or dead. But humans? They kept food as _pets_! They had a creature they called a _feline_ that seemed to serve no other purpose other than to be petted. There was another, _canine_ , that at least could serve as a hunting companion, a scout, and an early warning detection system. Yet most seemed for show, and it seemed a small population of the four-legged beasts were pampers and preened for some sort of competition of who had the best trained walking... Spirits-forsaken creature that it was. He had asked Hale yesterday if any of the _canine_ species were considered a staple to a humans' diet, as oppose to some mongrel beast leading humans by dragging them along with a strap, and he had watched the Commander's face plates lose their color. Research, evidently, did not provide all the answers.

"Are the current arrangements working out for you and Nihlus, at least?" The _Normandy's_ XO asked, her eyes flitting over to Nihlus Kryik, who stood at the other end of the galley, dressed in his armor... which had been repainted. Much to the amusement of the human crew of the state-of-the-art Frigate-class warship, Nihlus had fulfilled his end of the bargain pertaining to the bet he had made with Major Jennifer Hale, having her paint his armor a noxious color that she called _'hot-ass pink'_. It was certainly not the pink he was use to seeing on Turians, a color associated more with hues in decorations and art. The humans, barbaric as they were, found the sigh obviously hysterical, as the color was generally associated with feminism, and seeing a male Turian painted hot-ass pink was evidently going to be the height of their month. Possibly even a Citadel year. Nihlus took it in stride, and even let himself be pic'ed with arms draped over various humans as a running gag, knowing fully that while the joke was on him, he wasn't going to take it seriously. It made Saren seriously reconsider why he had picked Nihlus as a SPECTRE candidate in the first place all those years ago.

"Yes, they are to everyone's satisfaction, Commander Hale." The Turian replied, and he could tell that Hale was taking into full account his rotten mood. It wasn't the female Marines' fault, and in truth, Major Jennifer Hale had been doing an above-and-beyond job in being as accommodating as possible to her Turian guests, even getting some extra supplies in the means of proper food for them, as oppose to bland Turian military rations. "I... apologize. I don't think you've had a Turian for such an extended period of time aboard one of your vessels, and you have been, thus far, extremely accommodating, insofar for me to say that you have treated us to fares better than our own military does. For that, I and Nihlus thank you, and appreciate your efforts."

"Not the first time I've taken care of some Turians." Hale commented, her eyes distant as she mulled over something in her past, no doubt. "Few years back, back when I was in command of the 2nd TRU Battalion, we raided a ship that had done a snatch-and-grab on one of your Separatist colonies in the Attican Traverse, heading for the Skyllian Verge. We intercepted them, and I saw a clutch of about two dozen eggs... Turian hatchlings." That had Saren's mandibles flare wide in shock and horror. There was no worse crime in a Turian's mind than to assault a hatchling. "We returned the eggs back to their parents, but one of them hatched early, and I found myself the temporary mother of a chick. It was... adorable." The human Marine admitted with a shrug, the ghost of a smile appearing on her horizontal mandibles. "Had to look up how to do so on the extranet, and quite a few of us volunteered with feedings and cleaning. There's still a picture at the Battalion HQ of that little guy being held by Senior Chief Azul Al-Amini, possibly the biggest man I've ever met. The chick's mother was very relieved that we had taken such good care of her hatchling, and her sire was possibly the first time I've ever heard a Turian cry."

"That would do it." The SPECTRE admitted, trying to imagine such a horror, and then to have hope restored by the returning of the young. That Hale would do such a thing didn't surprise the Turian at all; it was simply her nature. While he bore no love for the Turian Separatists, even they and the Hierarchy knew better than to target a hatchery. "I assume that those responsible are all dead?"

"No. Some of the assholes caught wind that it was me raiding them, and immediately surrendered, and even gave me full access to their camp." The human replied, chuckling darkly. "This was perhaps a couple of months after Torfan, and the pirates were in absolute fear of me. Perhaps a full third of them came to their senses. Of course, I turned them over to the Separatist colony along with the hatchlings, so I'm pretty sure the rest of their very short lives was not pleasant at all."

"I don't doubt it." Saren replied, nodding his head. Who was stupid enough to mess with a Turian's hatchling? Why would pirates do such a thing? He didn't ask their races, as no Turian would have done such a thing, regardless if they were a pirate or not. Though the Hierarchy had the death penalty, unlike most of the Counsel species, the bringing of harm to a hatchling did not garner the mercy of a swift firing squad. The punishment for that was far, far more severe. He wasn't even sure how one peeled back the plates on a species that had none, but he didn't doubt the Seperatists had found a way to do so. Spirits knew he would get creative. If he recalled correctly, the Systems Alliance had the death penalty as well; hanging. It was efficient and economical; one only needed one rope, after all. "That is admirable of you, Commander, though given your service record, I cannot say that I am surprised. Still, I thank you, even if the thought of Separatists itches my plates. To be so ambiguous with your mercy and compassion... you indeed have the hallmarks of what we desire." He couldn't say that Hale was a SPECTRE candidate out in the open in front of the crew members of the _Normandy_ , even though they were technically on a Counsel-supported mission.

That was the crux of such things; SPECTREs, despite being the long arm of the Counsel, had to give them the benefit of plausible deniability. The most important weapon that a SPECTRE had was discretion. It was imperative that an Agent of the Counsel would go in, accomplish the mission, and leave without anyone suspecting their status. Often, evidence would be planted to suggest other parties, or video records falsified to make it look like an inside job, or an accident gone wrong. It was more important that being a great soldier or leader, as sometimes the job entailed working against the very governments that supported the Citadel. Thankfully, Saren only had to work against the Hierarchy itself twice, both times completely justified. Yet the Hierarchy was not allowed to know that it was the Counsel that authorized him the use of chemical munitions on a secret facility that was developing illegal weaponry, mostly in the form of plasma-inducing anti-ship cannons. All he had to do was make it look like an accident and a quarantine gone wrong, killing the technicians that had been responsible for coming up with the idea and building the device itself. Such weaponry was illegal for a reason under Citadel Law; he himself had seen a crude plasma weapon fired upon a Krogan, watching the Tuchankans' shields flicker away immediately as the beam of super heated ions practically melted the Krogan into a puddle in a second or two. That weapon he had captured in Omega, and it sat somewhere in the Citadel, encased in unbreakable ceramic plastiglass and coded not to be opened without the approval of one of the Counselors themselves.

"So, anything on the agenda?" Hale asked as she sipped at her own coffee, the porcelin mug in her hands having her name stenciled in black sticker letters. "Training, info, that kind of thing?"

"None for now, not until we reach our destination." Saren replied easily, knowing that if he spent too much time taking away Hale, the humans would begin to suspect something was amiss, especially the now newly-promoted Commander Mark Meer. Both he and Hale had officially gotten their little silver leaves denoting their rank on their shoulder boards before leaving Pinnacle Station, and it was painfully obvious to everyone present at the ceremony when Hale had been promoted first with two permanent ranks; that of a Naval Commander, and as a Marine Lieutenant Colonel. Even Saren could see the quite rage in Meer's visage as he was promoted after Hale; the Alliance had the same thought as the Hierarchy about rank and structure, whomever being promoted first outranked those promoted afterwards, even if it were by mere seconds. Meer still had no idea that he was out of the running for the SPECTRE candidacy, and Saren still rankled over some of the things he had discovered about the man. That he tried making some sort of blackmail plan against Hale was dirty in the lowest form, using the ship's security footage to glean tidbits of information against crew members. The man had muttered out his plan well enough for both Nihlus and Saren to get the gist of it; the man was going to ruin the career of a warrior far superior than he just because she was a woman, and he thought himself better. If Hale had proven herself the epitome of what a Human could do in Saren's eyes, then Mark Meer magnified all he thought wrong with Humanity. The man was insubordinate, racist, egotistical, and a backstabbing, self-serving tool. The Turian couldn't imagine up a _worse_ candidate for the SPECTREs, and there had been no debate between Nihlus and himself when it came to the decision on what action they would take.

Meer would never be a SPECTRE, and if he were lucky, said information wouldn't be sent to the Alliance Military to permanently drum him out of service.

* * *

"ALL HEAR THIS, ALL HEAR THIS, ALL HEAR THIS." Commander Jennifer Hale's voice echoed through the intercom system and into every portion of the _Normandy_ , garnering the attention of everyone who served on her. Saren Arterius was currently standing in the Frigate's CIC, watching all that occurred from a corner near the back wall where the elevator resided, doing his best to keep out of the way of the smaller Humans as Sailors served in their duties and responsibilities, men and women in Alliance Blue standing duty at their posts. "ORDERS RECEIVED BY ALLIANCE COMMAND. FRIGATE SSV NORMANDY TO PERFORM SHAKEDOWN CRUISE IN ALLIANCE SPACE, DESTINATION EDEN PRIME, SOONEST TIME POSSIBLE. ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS, BATTLE STATIONS, BATTLE STATIONS."

The intercom snapped off as Hales' words cut out, informing the crew of their 'orders'. They were, of course, a sham; a shakedown cruise was where every station was manned, guns hot, radar active, and every system of the ship running at full capacity and efficiency as if going to battle. The ruse was to have the rest of the members of the _Normandy_ to believe that this was indeed a shakedown cruise in Alliance Space, and that Eden Prime was a destination of choice. Only Captain Anderson, Commander Hale, Nihlus Kryik and himself knew the truth; their orders had come from the Counsel, to go to Eden Prime to escort a team of excavators to relocate what could possibly be a working, fully-functional Prothean Beacon onto the Normandy and back to the Athena Nebula. Already, a team of Protheantologists from the University of Serrice had gathered its experts and trusted employees and were making their way to the Exodus Cluster. The _Normandy_ would be there several hours before to take command of the site and set up security protocols and defensive measures before the team arrived. Nihlus had already tasked the security auto-turrets and small STS launchers that would be used for the perimeter, disguised as small crates of Turian rations that one needed only to pop the top off to activate and operate. Saren was actually looking forward to this.

Commander Jennifer Hale stepped away from the Command Deck, the large Haptic display of the galaxy zoomed into a closer representation of their position, showing the _Normandy_ to be in translation between the Argos Rho Cluster and the Exodus Cluster. Barring any unforeseen solar storms or cosmic weather, they would reach Eden Prime in several hours, Saren was pleased to note, seeing the ETA on the projection. Though they had only just left Pinnacle Station with its separate wing for Hierarchy forces from him to enjoy, Saren didn't relish the thought of being cooped up in an Alliance vessel. Still, the XO of the _Normandy_ had done well with making accommodations for himself and Nihlus, and he briefly wondered how the Human-Turian development team that had built the Frigate had done together. Most likely, they worked in separate shifts, separate departments, and possibly even separate dates, having very little interaction with one another. Only twenty-six years after the Relay 314 Incident, and tensions between the Hierarchy and the Alliance was still thick and strong on several fronts. It was indeed nice that there were those who could work past that, such as Captain Anderson, Commander Hale, and even Nihlus Kryik. Of course, in the name of the spirit of cooperation, Saren didn't doubt Nihlus would try to charm a willing or curious human female into sleeping with him. Nihlus may have been a great SPECTRE and a great battlefield tactician, but his biggest flaw was his libido. Spirits, he knew for a fact that his partner had sex with at least four separate species, and Saren wasn't sure he wanted to know beyond Turian and Asari!

"TACOPS! Give me a projection of the military strength of Eden Prime!" Hale shouted to one of the departments in the CIC, looking to the opposite end of the bridge from where he stood. "I want a breakdown of Planetary Defense Forces; ground forces, militia reserves, satellites, ships, stations, outposts, recon drones... the works. If they fly a prop plane armed with a squirt gun, I want to be able to see it." Several of the technicians at their stations began to work furiously at their Haptic display terminals, obviously complying with the XO's wishes. "Navigation! Give me a workout of a variety of scenarios in which the _Normandy_ can perform in. I want to know how long it can hold a defensive pattern before refuel and discharge, how long we can sustain prolong engagement, the reasonability factor of engaging vessels by class, and work me up a synopsis of how we can refit the ship while on mission without having to land in a friendly location." The three navigators, one of them being Commander Mark Meer, began working on the series of orders that their XO had given them, though Saren noted the dark look that Meer had given Hale before complying. "Spacial Avionics! I want a variety of tactical packages for our radars; LADAR, sub-sonics, tight-beams, infrared and ultraviolet, and shift detection. If it flutters or farts, I want to know how far we can see it, and how long it takes." Saren nodded silently in approval; one needed to know just how good one could engage an enemy in space, as much of what a SPECTRE did was traveling, which usually meant engaging other ships. Though technically not trained for Naval Ops, Hale was a ground tactician that understood the capabilities of a ship, and had several excursions that had her 'airlock-kicking' into pirate ships and slaver vessels. "Engineering! Monitor all fluctuation and heat build-up as we put the ship through its' paces. I know what the manual says, but I don't give a shit. Manual isn't going to save our ass when the core decides to emergency vent heat build-up into the lower decks or somewhere else fully retarded." It would be interesting to note what the prototype Frigate could do, especially with its IES stealth system. Saren had already seen them sneak up on Pinnacle station, more than close enough to engage in a space knife fight. "Weapons! Spool up the main cannon, fire up the GUARDIANs, activate the auto-turrets, and bring up the kinetic barriers to full power."

Hale was being the Executive Officer she needed to be, and Saren watched her work.

It was a little different for him. Aboard his own ship, _Talon's Fury,_ he had his own dedicated Hierarchy Naval Captain and XO to mind everything that need to be done for his Cruiser-Class Bird of Prey. All he did was give them destinations while he planned out the missions, prepared his gear, and executed his orders, expecting the crew of his vessel to maintain their discipline while he performed his tasks. On a few occasions, that had meant ship-on-ship action, and his Captain, Captain Karus Belltamus, was as fine a Captain as any produced in the Hierarchy. It wasn't that Saren couldn't do the job, it was just that he couldn't do both jobs at once. How was he to perform as a SPECTRE if he was to command a ship at the same time? Yet during transit times, it was quite possible he could do so, though he had never had any training for Naval tactics, being a member of the Cabal. Hale, despite her lack of experience in a Naval setting, was a consummate leader, and Saren knew that she had been studying manuals and programs to help her in knowing what to do.

The SPECTRE watched on as the crew of the _Normandy_ complied with their XO's orders, and Saren saw Captain Anderson's work in this; letting Hale take the lead in a Navy setting. It would give her experience in knowing how others ran their ships, especially if others weren't as well-versed. It would be an important lesson for a SPECTRE, and for one, the Turian was glad that Hale was a quick study. It shouldn't be surprising, considering the human female graduated top of her class in the Alliance Military Academy, as well as the N School in Rio. She wasn't gifted, but she did bust her plates working to be the best. He watched as the Commander observed all that was going on in the CIC, monitoring Haptic screens that displayed the various readings and statuses of the Frigate as they translated FTL towards Eden Prime. With several hours to go, he didn't doubt that Hale would take the time to drill the crew members of the _Normandy_ , to test their abilities in case they were needed for an actual engagement. He himself ran the same scenarios with his own crew as well. A well-trained crew was paramount, after all.

"Observer," Hale looked to him, and for a moment, he had almost forgotten that no one was suppose to know that he was a SPECTRE, under the guise of a Counsel Observer. Not that the humans hadn't probably figured it out on their own, but they were keeping up appearances. "could you and your partner please report to the comms room? There is a communications request from your superior." That was strange. The Counsel usually just gave out a mission without need of updates or reports until the objective was complete. Unlesss the situation had drastically changed.

"Thank you, Commander. I should go." Saren replied, turning from his post and making his way to the communications room, sending a short text to Nihlus to have him meet in the comms room. The SPECTRE waited by the door for a few moments until Nihlus arrived, his partner having stationed himself in Engineering and having to suffer the eternally slow elevator that seemed to be the product of Hierarchy line-of-thought. As Nihlus approached in his pink-tinted armor, both SPECTREs entered the room, a constructed Faraday Cage that blocked out all outside transmissions and recording devices, denuding signals that might intercept a transmission. Only the ship's dedicated transmitter/receiver came in, and was sent into the comms room via a hardline. It better ensured the classification of secret materials, classified missions, and privacy settings needed for military operations, paramilitary operations, and in this case, special operations. Saren hit the queue button to accept the call, and was surprised to see the figure of Counselor Tevos T'essus appear on the Haptic screen as oppose to Septimus Quintinus, the Turian Counselor their normal contact.

" _Well met, Agents_." The Asari's voice was congenial, yet her tone suggested that the transmission was not frivolous. " _I apologize for the inconvenience, as I know that you are underway to your mission on Eden Prime_."

"It is well, Counselor." Saren replied softly, using the linguistics more common to Asari, more passive, roundabout tones as oppose to the direct and blatant sentence structures that Turians were more use to using. "Is there an update to the mission?"

" _To the original mission, yes_." The Counselor replied, and the SPECTRE was a little confused by that; their original mission was to gauge a potential human SPECTRE candidate. He had sent regular updates, as had Nihlus, concerning both Hale and Meer. Sparatus had been rather adamant about it. " _We have received a transmission from the Human Embassy concerning the candidacy between your two potential recruits. It seems that the Alliance wishes to pull... Major Hale, was it? From the candidacy process, citing that mitigating factors during the selection process interfered with the voting process."_

"Well, that's a load of _batha_ dung." Nihlus replied immediately with a snort. "Both candidates received the same amount of votes, and both received written approval by their highest ranking military officer. I don't see how anyone in mankind would dare do something like that behind Fleet Master Jon Grissom's back. He would destroy them."

" _That might have been true if Fleet Master Grissom were still alive_." The Asari Counselor replied, surprising both of the Turian SPECTREs. Saren was rather shocked by the revelation; the Board had been... thirteen days ago! Yes, Fleet Master Grissom was old by human standards, but he looked to be in peak physical health for a human his age during the Board. His death must have been quite recent, since they had just left the Alliance Pinnacle Station just the day before. " _We had just received word two hours ago of this turn of events, as well as the Alliance's wish to remove the female candidate from the selection process_."

"Then you had best let the Alliance know that they will have _no_ SPECTREs if they choose to do so." Saren offered, his flanged voice a growl. "Meer is by far the worst possibility I've seen for a SPECTRE candidate, while Hale represents her species with honor and integrity. If they wish to shunt Commander Hale, then I will release the evidence that we've garnered on Meer about certain activities he has conducted since we've began observing him and Hale. The evidence would be quite embarrassing to the Alliance, I might add."

" _I see_." Counselor Tevos took a breath, and turned her gaze to Nihlus. " _Do you support Saren's actions?"_

"I completely agree with him, Counselor." The SPECTRE replied with a nod of his head, crossing his talons over his arms. "Hale outshines just about every example I've ever seen as a warrior. She is very good, and in complete control of herself. She would do very well representing Humanity at large, and the Counsel would have a great asset in her. Meer, on the other hand, is a coward, a xenophobe, a sexist, and insubordinate. Releasing him onto the galaxy at large would be both an embarrassment and a liability. Hale would do us all proud."

" _Interesting_." The Counselor mused, her image looking thoughtful. " _I had to spend twenty minutes listening to that whining little_ scurr _of an Ambassador rant about how the female one is a warmongering, blood-thirsty lunatic... and possibly a Cerberus operative. Yet in your reports that you sent yesterday, you reached the conclusion that it was the male one that might have ties to that despicable organization. Any thoughts?"_

"Impossible." Saren Arcterius growled, his anger getting the better of him. "The Human female has literally saved tens of thousands of non-Human slaves, even going so far as treating them herself, and transporting them to their respective government representatives. I have also had many personal conversations with her, and have found her to be much more open-minded than I am. As far as I'm aware, she doesn't even hate Batarians, just their government!"

"I concur." Nihlus added with a nod of his head. "Hale has done well to make accommodations for us, ordering better food and making easier arrangements for eating, as the Human crew and ourselves don't exactly mesh in dietary means." That had the Asari look amused, undoubtedly thinking along the same lines as the Humans would about Turian dining practices. "Meer has yet to speak to us about anything, not even to ask questions about his involvement with us. He was made aware that he was a SPECTRE candidate by someone else other than us; whom, we do not know. When we informed him, not only was he not surprised, he didn't bother asking what the job entailed, or what his responsibilities would be. Either he doesn't care, has his own ideas, or just plain does not want to talk to Turians. All of these are rather alarming."

" _You told them already?_ " Tevos asked, one of her eye ridges going up in amusement.

"I... may have accidentally let it slip with Hale, and told Meer to avoid being seen as playing favorites." Nihlus replied sheepishly, his mandibles flexing in embarrassment. "Regardless, Hale has conducted herself splendidly. It should say much that Saren finds her to be worthy of being inducted into the SPECTREs considering his stance on Humanity in general." Saren grunted at that, even though it was true. "As far as I am aware, the initial military approval of Hale is all that is needed to make one a candidate. Now it is in our hands to decide if she is worthy of it unless _we_ discover some issue that would make us decide to deny her. As we've done with Meer."

" _This has never happened before, I believe_." The Asari frowned, and tapped at some console on her end in the Citadel. " _The rules do state that once a candidate has earned their military's approval, that it is left to the mentor to decide, but has been no incident in the past when a SPECTRE candidate lost their military's support."_

"To _tarshk_ with the Humans and their damnable politics." Saren growled, crossing his own arms across his chest. "It is obvious that they are going to back stab Hale after their greatest hero defended her honor before he is even in his grave. Despicable."

" _I see_." The Counselor took a deep breath, her eyes going to the SPECTREs in front of her. " _I shall speak to my fellow Counselors about your observations and decisions. I agree that this is an unusual situation that needs to be handled with thought, not emotion. I know that Sparatus is practically frothing at the mandibles at Udina's incompetence. To have complained so much about not having a Human SPECTRE, and then to turn around and pass over on what appears to be their best candidate only ramifies their brash actions and barbaric thought processes. You are sure of this course of action? We will be placing a great deal of trust and faith in your decision, and it already appears that this tide will be crashing onto more than just pleasant shores. This... Hale, was it? She had best be worth it. I foresee a good deal of troubled times concerning this SPECTRE candidacy. More so than we initially realized."_

"Let Counselor Quintinus know that if he has reservations, that Hale straight up outscored Nihlus in every shooting competition they've had between one another." The Biotic Turian told the Asari Counselor, whose eye ridges went up with amusement. "That'll get his attention." It was a well-known fact among those who served in the Citadel and the Counsel that Nihlus Kryik was the best shot on the station. That would be over quickly as soon as Hale was accepted, and while Sparatus Quintinus was no fan of Humanity either, he respected soldiers and warriors of any race, even Krogan with an ounce of honor in them. If the Turian Counselor read his progress reports, he would see the same thing that Saren saw; the woman was born to be a SPECTRE. The Counsel would be highly remissed to let such an opportunity to pass by them.

" _Thank you for your time, Agents, and continue to monitor and carry out your orders as before."_ Tevos T'essus finalized, standing in a regal position that Saren noted that she did whenever she was giving orders or was in the superior position of a negotiation. _"We shall take your notes and commentary under careful advisement. This... Major Hale? We shall have the Citadel Intelligence Agency look through her background to see if there is any connections to Cerberus, though I believe that your assessment is correct based upon her actions. We shall have the other one... what was his name again?"_

"Commander Mark Meer." Nihlus replied with a scornful tone, almost spitting out the words.

 _"Yes."_ The Asari noted with a nod of her head. _"We shall scour him as well, though it seems that you have found some rather incriminating evidence on your own. At this time, unless otherwise noted by yourselves, this Mark Meer character shall be removed from consideration for being inducted into the SPECTREs. I do not enjoy dealing with the Alliance Government and their neediness to mire their wants and needs into our policies, but if this Hale woman is worth it, then we shall prove it."_ The Asari paused for a moment, and checked the console on her end once more. _"I do know that name from somewhere. Was she not the one that assaulted a Batarian slave ring? The one with the barbaric moniker?"_

"Yes, the Butcher of Torfan." Saren replied, not exactly pleased with the fact that it was brought up. He had a good idea that Hale did not like the name, though it seemed that its notoriety was just as inspiring as it was demeaning. "Her unit was responsible for the decimation of much of the so-called 'overzealous patriots and misguided warriors' that the Hegemony likes to foist that horrible practice on. Her actions alone damn near stopped slavery and piracy for almost two Galactic Cycles, Counselor. That is but one of many reasons I believe she would be perfect for the SPECTREs."

 _"I understand... and I agree."_ The Asari nodded her head. " _Someone who can captivate our enemies to a stand still, even if for a short period of time, is worth investing our attention and favor towards. I shall talk to my confederates tomorrow about this Hale woman. I foresee no further complications save from the Alliance, who will be receiving a stern lecture about meddling in affairs above and beyond theirs. If the Human System Alliance will not sponsor this Major Hale, then I believe we of the Thessian Republic shall look into the endeavor, or perhaps the Hierarchy will. Either way, an opportunity that presents itself should not be squandered."_

"Good." Saren replied, Nihlus nodding his head as the image of Counselor Tevos T'essus disappeared as the connection ended. "Damn monkeys. Sooner or later they will stick their snouts in somewhere it doesn't belong, and they will get smacked hard for it." His partner merely grunted at that as Saren fumed. "It makes me think of what Hale told me, accepting being a SPECTRE so that Humanity has a little less reason to be afraid. I wonder what they fear, us or themselves?"

"Something to ponder." Nihlus replied, obviously not knowing the answer either.

* * *

A/N: Wait, the Counsel isn't filled with a bunch of self-serving jackasses? Yes, I am still using my Counsel of Three from Mass Effect vs. Aliens; y'know, the ones that aren't a waste of oxygen and DNA.

And onto the Dragonslayer. We have one of those.


	20. Meer: Transmissions

**Meer: Transmissions**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 19: Meer, Transmissions

SSV _Normandy,_ Exodus Cluster, April 01, 2183, 1952 Zulu

Commander Mark Meer was not in a good mood.

He had gotten off his shift almost two hours before, being the Lead Navigator for the SSV _Normandy_ , and had gone directly to his quarters, shared with his counterpart, Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Pressly. Sharing quarters was nothing new, though Meer seethed at the thought that he had to share a small room with another man, cramped quarters at that! At least he wasn't hot-bunking like the enlisted men and women were, forced to share their beds with someone from a different shift. There was only two people on a Naval vessel that didn't have to share quarters; the Captain of the vessel, and their XO. Unlike everyone else, their jobs were technically twenty-four seven, as any issue would be brought to either one of their attentions, day-shift or night-shift. The thought of that _cunt_ being in his rightful position grated at him, living in her own room at the back of the Med Bay; Naval royalty, as it were. He was alone in his shared room, at least, Pressly hanging out in the galley to play poker as he was wont to do after shift with a few of the other Bridge personnel for several hours.

Meer didn't mind. It would give him time to do what was needed.

The Hero of Akuze reached into his personal locker and pulled out a small datapad that looked like any other, nor did it have any markings or programs to make it stand out in any way. The sense of security for such a device was necessary as Meer put his thumb at the center of the datapad screen, letting the bio-metric scanner read his fingerprint. As expected, it came up with an error screen; a smokescreen against those who attempted to log onto the datapad that weren't suppose to. He then raised the device to his eye, just a few inches from his face as he stared at the center of it with his right eye, letting the secondary bio-metric scanner read his ocular print as well, a scan that datapads did not do, not even the top secret ones. After a three second delay, the datapad's error screen went away as it acknowledged Meer's identity, and he connected to the datapad's secured server via the SSV _Normandy's_ extranet link. The program running on the datapad was a ghost connection that piggy-backed off the normal military channels that inserted itself through a variety of signals, splitting itself multiple times and hopping through a multitude frequencies via a mutating algorithm that made it almost impossible to hack without the direct user to access the secured connection.

Such was the way of the Corporation.

" _Secured Net Connection_." The datapad reported quietly, no different than any other secret datapad that one might log into, save that Meer's was not bordered in red nor labeled as secret. The homescreen of the datapad went into a simple OS access screen, where only three apps existed; to access the Corporations' Secured Net, to make a message, or to make a call. Meer accessed the first, accessing his personal databox for any information, e-mail, and addendum to his current military orders. There were several messages in his databox, mostly status updates from the five other Corporation members serving on the _Normandy_. It was amusing to note that while they individually did not know who was their handler was or their fellowship in the Ohio-Class Frigate, Meer did know their identities as the highest-ranking Corporate member aboard the _Normandy_ , especially with his Level 4 Access. With that kind of connection, he could induct new members, fund side projects, request assistance from members on other projects, and even garner the use of expendable assets that the Corporation had in its possession. The updates were benign, mostly conforming to the members' individual military duties, as he had not put forward any orders, nor had he garnered any orders to pass down. Looking through the five members, he noted with some satisfaction that they were all in key positions, whether it was leadership in the form of Officers or Non-Commissioned Officers, or were in specialist roles in which they were in charge of themselves.

That was about to change.

The first order was given to Member #37429-B, Chief Petty Officer Michael Valley. Meer almost let off a chuck at the though of the ship's Bosum's Mate having been put into his position by none other than the _cunt_ herself, having no idea that he was a member of the Corporation. The Bosum's Mate was the master maintenance chief, responsible for not only other Bosum's Mates upon the vessel, but also conducting the necessary checks and maintenance of the various departments. A man in his position could wreck havoc upon a vessel, the theoretical monkey wrench in the works, as it were. A few malfunctions and a variety of issues aboard the _Normandy_ could magnify the _cunts'_ incompetence with Chief Valley's help. A quick order for a misaligned lens in the CIC's Galaxy Map projector would have the system buggy and glitchy, affecting her work without degrading the performance of the ship itself. Meer wasn't stupid; he wasn't about to to something to the ship that would damage its performance.

The next order was to Member #41137-C, Lieutenant (junior grade) Mark Alverson, a radar/LADAR technician that worked in the Ops Alley, whose job was to detect incoming heat signatures and identify by shape and grade of heat expenditure. The man was supposedly a wizard at his job, so it should be to hard for him to come up with 'ghost' signatures and false readings, explaining it away as solar radiation readings or space dust pockets. Combining that with a glitchy Galaxy Map would have the cunt chasing ghosts and putting the _Normandy_ at battle stations every five minutes, annoying the crew and making her look paranoid. Degrading her performance as the ships' Executive Officer would push him into the spot he deserved to be in, what he was made for.

The next set of orders went to Member #43091-A, who was the _Normandy's_ Supply Officer, Ensign Rupert Scott, who was told to confuse a series of supply orders meant for their alien guests; that would certainly get the Turian SPECTREs to change their opinions of the cunt as she shook her ass at them. A member of the Corporation as a Supply Officer was a veritable gold mind, in Meer's opinion. He could snub the cunt by putting _his_ name on orders that went through, and _her_ name on items that didn't make it, implying that she couldn't do the job right. All sorts of things could go wrong in the supply chain, and Meer could easily have her take the wrap. Especially when items went missing right before the monthly inventories that the Alliance military required of its vessels and Marine companies, especially with their ten percent cyclic inventory checks.

The next order was submitted to Member #29427-D, one Sergeant Thomas Benson, a Marine Squad Leader of the _Normandy's_ Marine detachment. The order for the Marine was simple; to simply start quiet rumors of how much time the cunt was spending with the aliens... and what that could mean.

The last member was Navy Corpsman Lynda Basheer, Member #50012-E, who was not only a part of the Medical Bay of the _Normandy_ , but also attached to the Marines during missions. The thought of a woman in his cell filled Meer with distaste, but she could prove herself useful as an object of seduction and intelligence-gathering. He ordered her to gain access to the cunts' full personnel file, her medical file, and anything in between, as the Alliance usually gave the vessels' Surgeon full disclosure of all history of service members as a baseline, even special operations soldiers. Meer figured it wouldn't hurt to know _everything_ about the cunt. He also then gave her the order to use any opportunity to flirt and seduce the XO, given the proximity of the Med Bay and the XO's personal quarters, and the fact that Corpsman Basheer was a good-looking enough whore who had opened her legs for both genders for the Corporation in the past. If the woman was going to admit to being some duel gender-swinging slut, why waste the opportunity?

Sometime during his giving of orders, Meer saw that a message had been sent to him from Humanity's Ambassador to the Citadel. He read the short message quickly and connected with the one-time use, one-way only callback option, a safeguard against unwanted ears.

" _Mark. Thank you for your prompt response. Are you secure?"_ The voice of Ambassador Donnel Udina came over the small earphones that Meer had attached to the datapad, the screen ubiquitously showing some rather benign teleconference vid if anyone thought to look over his shoulder. The vid showed some normal-looking whore on the screen who 'talked' when the person on the other line talked, though there was never a voice. Just another layer of security.

"Of course." Meer replied softly, the sensitive microphone of the earphones being able to pick up a whisper if needed to prevent snooping. The fake face disappeared, and the image of the Ambassador appeared, the lined face of the diplomat coming in instead. "I saw your message. You seriously think that staging the cunt as a Cerberus member will work?"

 _"As we speak, I have a team of infowar data specialists infiltrating her military personnel files, inserting certain benign keywords that the ONI usually focuses on during their investigations."_ The older man replied with a knowing smirk. _"I have already had a teleconference with the Counsel, and I made certain accusations against Hale, inserting doubt against her already stained credit, and briefly mentioning possible ties with Cerberus."_ Meer snorted at that; what irony, to accuse the cunt of being in the same league as him, even if she had nothing to do with the Corporation. The organization hadn't even been called 'Cerberus' in like... two decades! _"Combine that with her history and her past actions, it shouldn't be difficult to make the Counsel see that Hale is the wrong choice for the task, regardless of whatever those alien observers might say about her."_

"Ahern seemed to think I should just let the cunt win, take the SPECTRE position, and pretend that the whole thing didn't exist." Meer replied bitterly, snorting at the thought.

 _"Ahern is on his way out."_ Udina replied, and that had the Commander pause; the man was slated to be the next Fleet Master, especially since Jon Grissom had just passed away. Meer had read the update the previous night, and had surprisingly been shock at the news that had yet to reach the _Normandy's_ crew, and probably a good deal of humanity as well. Despite being a stanch opponent against the Corporation, even Commander Mark Meer was in awe of Jon Grissom, one of the greatest heroes that humanity had ever had. Tadius Ahern himself was a famous war hero from the First Contact War, and his service with the Alliance was almost as illustrious as Grissoms' had been. The man was also an asset to the Corporation, like Meer and Udina, and had been a member almost at the very beginning! For the Admiral to be on the way out right at the cusp of his advancement to the seat of Fleet Master, the highest-ranking position in the Alliance Military? Something didn't seem to add up in Meers' mind. _"The man doesn't know it yet, but as we speak, his Level of Access is being reduced, and he will be finding himself sitting at Pinnacle Station for a good while longer. With some assistance from the Corporation, Khan Singh shall be finding himself nominated for the position of Fleet Master here in the next few months."_ That was another name from the First Contact War, also a part of the relief force that had come to the aid of Shanxi after the initial alien invasion on the colony. Admiral Singh was a well-venerated name as well, as the man was in charge of the Earth Defense Fleet as oppose to one of the patrolling fleets that was shanghai'ed by the Citadel at any given time, a high percentage of their ships used for 'defensive measures' of Counsel Space as oppose to defending humanity's borders. It was a sore point among those in the Corporation as well as those not in it that a healthy amount of men and women were used to patrol Counsel Space, giving their lives to defend aliens against other aliens, paying the price in human blood. Yet was there one Turian Bird of Prey that patrolled Alliance Space for humanity? Not that Meer wanted fucking Turians to be in Alliance Space, but there was little in the way of reciprocity between the Citadel and the Alliance, a sore point that was exposed often in negotiations against their alien overlords.

Being a SPECTRE meant he would have to work for said alien overlords, Meer thought to himself with disgust.

"Any further instructions from the Committee?" The Commander asked, looking at Udina's image as the man pursed his lips, staring at him for several dozen parsecs away.

 _"Continue with your current operations. I'll handle things on my end."_ The Ambassador replied simply. _"Current intel suggests that you will be going to Eden Prime for a Counsel-specified mission involving yourself and the SPECTREs. Assets on Eden Prime have confirmed the discovery and location of a Prothean Beacon several days ago, and I would surmise that it will be your duty to hand over a piece of what is rightfully ours over to the Counsel. We've already inserted an Operative into a pool of potential Protheanologists so that we may also tap into the feeds and data-mine whatever is discovered. For now, play along. We will not be forced to give away mankind's second greatest discovery right over to the aliens just because they force us to share whatever_ we _discover while we seem to receive all their Prothean discoveries in small, random piecemeal. I've long suspected that their so-called 'Citadel Convention' that forces all who make discoveries of Prothean information and technology to share is actually a ruse; it looks as if the Turians and damn Batarians were forced to give up their own discoveries as part of their admittance into the Counsel's Confederacy, and in the Turians case, to secure their seat on the Counsel itself despite their efforts in the Krogan Rebellion. Intel analysis suggest that neither the Salarians nor the Asari have shared a tenth of their own discoveries to the other races, having taken much more then they have given. I guess we should be so lucky that the Mars Archives is physically too large to move or download, though that means we are forced to have_ their _scientists in the Mars Archives while they place strict restrictions upon human who can enter the facility. As if we needed permission to study what we rightfully discovered!"_

"I couldn't agree more." Meer answered honestly, incensed at the thought as any other proper human being should be. During the end of the First Contact War, after Admiral Kastanie Drescher liberated Shanxi from Turian invaders, the Counsel had come in full force to 'ensure' the peace; they had come with some fifteen fleets of the Turian Hierarchy, ready to obliterate both of humanity's fleets, with two Asari fleets to 'keep the peace'. Humanity faced a brutal decision; to sign the Citadel Conventions to join the galactic community or the Turians would continue the war. What choice did Earth have? The Turians had outnumbered their ships nine to one, with a Dreadnought at the lead of every one, while Humanity only had three Everest-Class Dreadnoughts, the SSV _Everest_ itself badly damaged liberating Shanxi. The Conventions was signed, but the repercussions of the act were felt for a long time. First came the Treaty of Farixen, limiting the tonnage of their ship classes, limiting how many they could build, and what had to dispersed to the Counsel for 'Citadel Defenses'. Then came the Citadel Convention, in which humanity was forced to hand over all Prothean intelligence, information, technology, research, discoveries, artifacts, and data. Restrictions on human researchers into the Mars Archives had been limited to an 'acceptable amount of personnel', in which the Asari and Salarians outnumbered them greatly. The joining of the Counsel had neutered humanity worse than the First Contact War had.

And that was when the original Corporation had been born under the name of Cerberus.

" _Remember to keep your head in the game, Meer, and know that all things will come to those who are patient enough to do what is necessary."_ The Ambassador told him, his voice soothing. _"You'll get what you want, Meer, but only if you stay the course. There is no more dangerous time than when one is in sight of the finish line. Stay strong, and remember_ why _you served in the first place."_

"Of course. I haven't forgotten." Commander Mark Meer answered, nodding his head. Indeed he did remember why he had joined the Corporation in the first place. It had been more than just personal success, after all.

Sooner or later, he would find what he had been looking for for so long; a place to call home, a world with equals.

* * *

" _Translation successful."_ The voice of Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau came over the intercom next to the Command Deck, where the _cunt_ stood, looking at the display of the Galaxy Map as it updated with their position in the Utopia System. " _Sinks are active, board is good, drift... is just under 1500 K."_

"Damn, that's a good shot, Joker." Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale said from her post, only a couple of meters from where Commander Mark Meer himself stood at the Navigation post. His fingers flew on his Haptic console, working the spacial coordinates of the Utopia System. It would take them another half-an-hour or so to reach Eden Prime after a quick discharge with Zion, the colony planet at epogee with the Relay, sitting almost as far away from the Mass Relay as it could be. Meer silently sneered at the cunt as she stood at the Command Deck, at _his_ position, doing _his_ job. It made him want to scream in frustration at the futility of it, how he had been sideline just because some slut has a pair of tits and an ass to shake. What was worse was that people couldn't see what was going on right in front of their very eyes! A Marine as a Naval XO? Could it have gotten any more blatantly obvious? Yet the CIC was filled with men and women working diligently like any other day under the scrutiny of some Jarhead at the Helm. "Take us to Zion, set out the discharge cable and top up the tank, Moreau."

" _Want me to wash your windows and kick the space-tires, too, Colonel?"_ The pilot mouthed off, making Meer grit his teeth at the sound of Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau's huckabee voice. How some kid with a crippling medical condition had made it into the Alliance was beyond him, much less the fact that he survived childhood. Okay, yeah, sure, the kid scored impressive results, but pilots were a Credit a dozen, and one could easily snaggle a fighter jock and slap them into a Frigate's hot-seat! Meer had entertained the notion of putting out feelers for Moreau for the Corporation despite his disability due to the fact that his test scores were indeed impressive, and Meer respected a man who made himself the best at what he could do. Unfortunately, the rebellious streak that the pilot obviously had was nothing more than a good-natured chip on his shoulder that was aimed at everyone. When Meer talked to the kid in a general round-about way, he found out that Moreau had a very slanted view of the galaxy at large; he didn't trust anyone but a few close personal connections. Hell, the kid thought humans in general were as bad, if not worse, than the aliens!

"Y'know, Joker? I think Captains' Mast still has 'flogging' on the books." The cunt chided with a chuckle, her tone indicating that she wasn't being serious at all. "But if I really wanted to make you squirm, I'd come up there with some shaving gel and a razor."

 _"You wound me, Colonel. Low blow."_ The pilot replied, the camaraderie between the two obvious. How the hell had that happened? Didn't the kid have some brittle-bone disease? Vrolik's? He'd snap his hips if he even thought about air-humping in the cunts' direction! " _We'll be arrive at Zion in about ten minutes, and discharge will be just under an hour."_

"Then smoke 'em if you got 'em." Hale suggested, obviously knowing that the so-called 'smoking lounge' aboard the Ohio-Class Frigate was located upon the Gun Deck, where atmospherics would suck up and process any smoke exhalation in the small room located by the crew sleeper pods. Meer doubted the pilot smoked, though he knew for a fact that the cunt smoked cigars, and usually had at least one a day. She cut off the intercom and looked over to one side of the CIC, where Saren Arterius stood, silent and unmoving, monitoring all. "Observer Arterius? Captain Anderson messaged saying that he would like to see you and your associate in the comms room at your earliest convenience."

"Let your Captain know that I shall be there momentarily." The alien replied in his flanged, duel-toned voice, Meer staring at the Turian at the corner of his eye. If the so-called 'Counsel Observers' weren't necessary for him becoming a SPECTRE, he would have found ways to make their lives even more difficult. The fact that there were two aliens on-board a human vessel grated his nerves. The sooner they were off, the better. He didn't like the thought of them contaminating good men with their ideas and opinions. Hadn't the Counsel and their lackeys done enough to mankind without spreading their propeganda and filth? The cunt seemed to be buying into it hand-and-foot, but who cared what a woman thought? He just wanted to get his SPECTRE status so he could truly serve Humanity's best interest, as well as that of the Corporation. The news of Ahern being forced out was a sobering thought, but the man was simply getting himself in the way of progress. How would the Corporation not want a SPECTRE in its ranks? The idea that SPECTREs could be so closely monitored didn't phase Meer anymore; did the Office of Naval Intelligence not do the same thing? If ONI, the STG, and the CIA couldn't catch wind of Corporate members, then Meer wouldn't have to worry too much about possibly breaking cover or giving access to the Secured Net. Such things had been solved in the past, and no doubt the Committee had plans in action in preparation of just this very thing when Meer was made SPECTRE. He could almost taste it...

"Mr. Meer, Captain needs me in the comms room, priority." The cunt called out, her face going pale as she looked at something on her personal Haptic display on the Command Deck. "You have the Con." The Marine left the CIC at a very fast walk, and Meer pursed his lips at the sight. Obviously something had gone wrong for the cunt. Perhaps Captain Anderson had come to his sense and would be relieving her of her duties and putting Meer in his rightful place. Perhaps the SPECTREs would be informing her of Ambassador Udina's success, and tell her that she wasn't a candidate anymore. With a grin that forced itself onto his face that he couldn't fight, Meer took the Command Deck, sighing in relief that at least finally things were going right for him...

...the cunt had left whatever she had been looking at on her Haptic display.

Commander Mark Meer looked at the video file, a priority emergency message from... Eden Prime? Discretely slipping a remote earbud into his ear after syncing it into the Command Deck's personal viewer, he started the message so that he alone could see and hear it.

What he saw was alarming.

" _Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Lieutenant Durand of the 2nd Eden Prime Colonial Army Division, 2nd Brigade Detachment, 12th Infantry Battalion!"_ A man's voice piped up as a fully-armored Marine came on screen, recording a distress call over emergency channels. _"Eden Prime is under attack! I repeat, Eden Prime is under attack!_ " Meer watched in silence as he saw Colonial Soldiers in action behind the Lieutenant, firing off into the distance, the sound of gunfire somewhat drowning his words as the voices of the Marines were calling out targets and disposition. " _I say again! Eden Prime is under attack! Enemy unknown..."_

 _"Get down!"_ A female Soldier pushed the Lieutenant aside as a nearby explosion rocked the Lieutenant, the Soldier, and the emergency distress beacon that was still recording, a spray of dirt showering the viewer for a brief second before both the Lieutenant and Soldier got back on their feet, the woman firing at something as the Lieutenant went back to the beacon.

 _"We're being attacked by an enemy vessel! There's a Goddamn Dreadnought in the fucking sky!"_ The Lieutenant continued, his stressed voice indicating that he was close to snapping. _"Enemy dropships have saturated the vicinity with some kind of mech warforms and warframes that we've never seen before, and they've hacked into the PDF Defense Array. They shot down the Eden Prime Colonial Air Force with our own Goddamn GTS systems! They never stood a chance! Anyone who receives this beacon, be advised! Come in hard and strong for both space and ground assault!"_

 _"What the fuck is that!"_ The female Soldier piped up as she aimed at something up in the sky, and thankfully, someone moved the viewer of the emergency beacon to show what they had been looking at...

What the fuck was that?

A ship, a Dreadnought, hovered low in Eden Prime's skies, a fact that had Meer's jaw drop. It didn't look like any ship he had ever seen, with several cylindrical extensions coming from the bow of the vessel, and to his shock, he saw that they were spreading open, almost like an octopus before an attack. No ship could do that, yet this vessel was clearly ignoring the notions of impossibility as each of the finger-like extensions began to power up with an eerie red signature a moment before it began raining down whatever it considered its weapon system upon the defenders on the ground. The viewer continued to monitor as screams of pain became the only other broadcasted noise besides the sounds of explosions before the beacon took a hit itself, and the signal went dead.

 _Was... was that a direct energy weapon?_ Meer thought to himself, his blood running cold at the thought. Those hadn't been GARDIAN lasers, which were used for pinpoint accuracy. No, those fingers had been shooting some sort of tunnel of fire and death in a continuous line, searing and burning everything in its path. The energy consumption of such a device had to be astronomical, and it had used five at the same time.

It was then that Meer realized that Hale had just watched the same broadcast alongside Captain Anderson and the two SPECTREs... and he was stuck on the bridge.

 _"ALL HANDS! BATTLE STATIONS! BEAT QUARTERS AND SET THREAT CONDITION TO ALPHA!"_ Hales' voice came across the ships' intercom, loud and hurried. _"JOKER! IGNORE DISCHARGE AND TOP-OFF, AND GET US TO EDEN PRIME YESTERDAY AT FULL STEALTH! MARINES! GEAR UP, LOAD UP, AND GET READY TO MOVE OUT!"_ There was total silence as everyone on the bridge of the _Normandy_ looked at one another for about three seconds before the running lights of the Frigate dipped towards red, indicating the Threat Condition. Many of them had served on vessels when receiving emergency beacons, and knew the drill, but this was something different. The Butcher of Torfan herself had called it up, and to many in the military, that meant one thing and one thing only; slavers.

 _"MEER! GET YOUR ASS TO THE CARGO BAY WITH THE BEST SHIT YOU GOT!"_ The cunt called out over the intercom again, surprising the Commander. Wait, Hale... was asking for _him_? " _I HOPE YOU'RE HALF THE FUCKING DRAGON SLAYER YOU THINK YOU ARE, BECAUSE SOMETHING BIG AND NASTY JUST LANDED ON EDEN PRIME, AND YOU'RE THE BEST THING WE'VE GOT TO A BIG GAME HUNTER!"_

"Aye aye."

* * *

A/N: I wax a bit on 'hot-bunking' and how Big Navy lives on their ships. While I don't know if this is strictly true for all Naval vessels in the United States Navy, it is certainly true of the submarine fleet, as they are of limited size, and limited personnel. Though I am ex-Army, I have a lot of respect for those who serve on the Ohio-Classes and Los Angeles-Classes, the SSNs and SSBNs our hidden swords. Since the Normandy itself is a stealth vessel, I am likening it to the Ohio Class, which are the silent hunters of ships and other submersibles. The LA Class is an attack sub armed with Tridents and Minutemen, and are used to make nuclear war. I've mentioned it once or twice that the Normandy is an Ohio-Class Frigate, and this is why. My knowledge comes from the SS-581, USS _Blueback_ , a Barbel-class diesel-electric submarine that served and earned two Battle Stars in the Vietnam War, and a good many Pacific Fleet training exercises. She is now permanently moored at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry in Portland, Oregon, where public tours are held. For those who have never graced a submersible craft, the best way to describe one in a word is 'CRAMPED!' It can be seen also on the original _Hawaii Five-O_ TV show, the movie _Hunt for Red October_ (it plays the Russian sub, but does not perform the emergency ballast blow maneuver), and in the TV show _Portlandia_ where Paul Atreides (sorry, Kyle MacLachlan, but you'll always be _Muad'Dib_ in my mind) somehow gets lost on the Willamette River and uses the _Blueback_ as a reference point (and for those that don't know Portland geography, the sub sits practically in the center of the city, where you would see about five river-crossing bridges, several mini-skyscrapers, the West Hills, I-5, US 26, US 30, and gee... metropolitan Portland itself.)

I know that the Captain of a vessel (and a submarine) has their own quarters, but I believe that the Executive Officer shares quarters in the Officers Billets in a submarine, while some of the larger vessels they may have their own room, or perhaps just a single roommate. In this, I'm having the XO have their own separate room (which is Liara's Study), as I wanted Meer to really hate Hale. Especially for asinine reasons.

The Secured Net Connection of the Corporation's access is actually somewhat a description of what military radio net uses to prevent access to our radio waves, something known as Frequency Hop. Considering that this was invented in like... the 40's, it changes to prevent foreign access, and is virtually impossible to hack or filter... without the key. The Navy is especially paranoid about their nets, as any infiltration means you will be listening in on military nets, as well as being able to relay false reports. For a real-life idea of this disaster, read anything about the Enigma Machine and the several times we captured it to turn the sea war of the Atlantic to our favor in WWII. Capturing the first Enigma Machine literally turned transportation from a death sentence to a turkey shoot in a month, and God bless those British Commandos that stormed a Nazi Sub to capture the first of five stolen encryption devices. If there is a concept of having more than just balls, they had it. Those men literally turned the Atlantic War in our favor to ensure we could 'read German mail'.

The Databox is essentially an e-mail in-box save that files, attachments, videos, and applications can be stored inside, with a much larger content acceptability rate and higher storage allowance. Think of it as an electronic thumb drive, or should I dare say... a Cloud?

I use a lot of knowledge from my time in the Army for this chapter, like the supply system, the cyclic inventories, rumor-mongering, and such.

This is really the first time I've touched upon the asshat's motivations; a world of equals. Strange, right? For such a self-serving, racist, sexist asshole, fighting for equality seems strange. I've actually stole the idea from _Serenity_ with the Assassin fighting for a world without sin. Remember that Meer started off a deposited orphan that lived in bad orphanages and grew up in shithole Eddie-town. The thought of some lower-class man wishes for everyone to be equal smacks a little to close to Hitlers' National Socialism. Which is also part of the inspiration.

Two out of three of the Mass Effect Service Records' had a good nickname; the Lion of Elysium and the Butcher of Torfan. Akuze, on the other hand, had nothing. I'm sorry, but 'Sole Survivor' just doesn't sound inspiring. So I came up with 'Dragon Slayer' for Akuze, as a Thresher Maw is a pretty damn good equivalent. The Dragonslayer of Akuze does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Pity Meer is an asshat.


	21. Intermezzio: Exemplar

**Intermezzio: Exemplar**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Intermezzio, Exemplar

The Vanguard _,_ Exodus Cluster, Utopia System, April 01, 2183, 2147 Zulu

She stood over the make-shift bed that she used to sleep on, looking upon the feminine form that laid upon it.

Cyan flesh was exposed admist the tangle of white rumpled human sheets and blankets on the pre-fab mattress that they had used during their intense bout of sexual gratification. The blue creature itself laid there, her breathing pained and labored as indigo tears stained her cyan cheeks, the inky blackness of her eyes fading from the force meld the human female had enacted against the creatures' own biology and wishes. It struck her as amusing that it was only possible for beings with five fingers; the monogender Asari, the endangered Drell, and of course human beings. All one had to do was to place their fingers into certain locations along the folds of an Asari's neck, just below their crest, and place a certain amount of pressure against those nerve bundles to activate their nervous system into an unwanted meld. She had invaded the Asari's mind and soul as she had done so countless times before, indulging in the sadistic pleasure of the alien's fear and denials as her thoughts and memories invaded her partners. Indulgence sated, she stood naked before the bed, her eyes upon the body of the Asari as the alien cried, folding upon herself into a fetal position, one hand draped over the large swollen bulge of her belly, cyan flesh surrounding the life that had quickened inside of it.

"Please... please let me keep this daughter." The Asari pleaded weakly, speaking through swollen lips that were dribbling indigo blood from splits in both her upper and lower lips, complimenting the swollen cheekbone that was turning a violet color, indicating that it was deeply bruised. "H-have I not given enough to you? To our benefactor? My education? My money? My body? My mind? My soul? Must you take all my daughters, too?"

"You know well what it is that we do." She replied, her tone assured as she used a little bit of her influence upon the Asari that laid before her, curled in a ball and weeping. "You know why as well. Your daughters will help ensure our preservation."

" _Our_ daughters!" The Asari spat out through swollen lips, more indigo blood leaking from her lips as she wiped away a small trickle that ran down her chin, her other hand still laying protectively over the pregnant bulge of her belly. "Must you take everything dear to me? Have I left anything to give? Anything to take?"

"Have you forgotten what has been given to you in return, how much more you are capable of now?" She reminded the Thessian as she stood and stretched out her body, still feeling the glow of satisfaction infusing her limbs, feeling energized, rejuvenated. "What were you before? A recluse, a despot, a pariah? What did you have then that you do not have now, Thessian? A mother who had already scorned your future, wishing you to never return? An Asari father who had abandoned you at birth, never even knowing her name? A race that befouls you for your heredity, seeing your pedigree as some sort of liability? A profession that insulted your life's' ambition and work, regaling you to cataloging while they reaped the benefits of your efforts? You owe the galaxy _nothing_ , not a Goddamn thing. And yet do you not do this for your people, to spare them the coming storm?" The Thessian merely looked at her, her swollen lips and bruised face never detracting from the eyes that she now possessed, her corneas now a fierce red color that surrounded the teal bands of her irises. The same eyes that the human woman herself possessed, save that hers were ringed with emerald green. "We do this for others, Doctor. Don't forget that... never forget that."

"I just wish..." The Asari fell silent as her right hand stroked her swollen belly, at the life that would soon come into the galaxy, a blue squalling babe. "I have given so much, as have you, Commander. So much has been lost..."

"So much has been _gained_." The human female reminded the Thessian, her own electric blue eyes blazed as she felt the power that thrummed in her veins, holding up a hand and looking at it, imagining the microcircuitry that laced her flesh, her muscles, her bones... every inch of her body. "Are we not better than before? Stronger? Healthier? Able to recover from injury in mere minutes instead of weeks and months? Do we not know what the coming storm will bring?" That had the Thessian close her reddened eyes, obviously remembering well their cause. "We stand a chance, Doctor. A ghost of a chance, perhaps. But it is a chance to save those who deserve it, to cleanse this galaxy of the filth that infects it while sparing those who are worthy of being the successors of a new galaxy... a better galaxy. Your daughters... _our_ daughters... will be the queens of a better life, inheritors to a galaxy that will be better than the one we were born to. Or do you wish for them to live in the same misery you yourself faced? The same heartache that you've seen in my mind?"

"No." The Asari replied finally, her voice but a whisper as her reddened eyes opened once more. "I do remember why we do this, Commander. The lives of my daughters are precious to me... but so is the chance to rebuild this galaxy into the better place that _all_ daughters can enjoy."

"I agree." She smiled as she moved through the small room, standing in front of the table that contained her weapons and armor, items honed by combat and experience. A finger traced over the blood-red stripe that ran vertically down the right pauldron, vanbrace, and bracer of the right arm, bordered by silver; a distinctive mark that any human would recognize, and many others of the other species would, too. "These past four years have been trying, yet we have continued to achieve the goals of our benefactor. Today? Today our trails and tragedies will end in triumph, for the hour of our victory is in hand. I have no doubt there will be more intelligence at the site for you to procure as I go for the cache itself. Today, Eden Prime. Tomorrow, the future." She smiled as she picked up the breastplate of her armor, smiling at it as her eyes touched upon the device that laid over the heart, the embossed 'N7' that indicated her level of training and lethality. "Nothing can stop us, Doctor. Nothing will get in our way on the path towards salvation."

* * *

The assault had gone as planned.

She stood on the Command Deck of the Vanguard, watching as the Geth Warships speared forward towards the exosphere of Eden Prime, GTS Batteries firing at the Eden Prime Colonial Air Force vessels that provided the defense for the colony. The software-possessed batteries had fired all their munitions at the thirteen Cruiser-Class human vessels holding orbit over the planet to ensure not only that they were completely destroyed, but also as well as making sure that no one else took command of the Ground-to-Space Batteries and started firing upon the Geth vessels. Not that she was worried about the Vanguard being hurt by something so puny as simply low-yield multistage thermonuclear ISBM's, but why take casualties when one could ensure it couldn't happen? The six Geth Dreadnoughts took residence in the exosphere as squadrons of Geth fighters began spewing out of the lone Megacarrier, the vessel comprised almost completely of hanger bays to hold ten thousand light-wing Delta flyers based off of the old Quarian PDF of Rannoch. The rest of the vessels began spitting out warforms and warframes onto the planet, infecting the area with a hundred thousand shock troopers of various capabilities, more than enough to take on the Marine Division posted on the colony, as well as the three Army Divisions.

Eden Prime fell in a matter of minutes.

The human woman boarded the singular personnel shuttle along with the Asari Doctor, both of them armed and armored for a fight, though she didn't doubt they would likely meet any resistance on their way to Constant, the colony's capital. Already, Geth software had infected the colony's mainframe, wrecking havoc upon its infrastructure, shutting down power planets, disabling civil services, jamming transmissions and extranet relays. The Vanguard itself drove towards the planet, assaulting local pockets of resistance to a very high degree of effectiveness, its electromagnetic metallic slurry driven through mass tunnels that bombarded with such heat and force as to strip a Dreadnought of its barriers and armor in seconds, cutting swaths of destruction upon the ground. The shuttle continued towards its destination, the dig site that the Geth had hacked its location from secured Alliance transmissions and Counsel data-packets. The seven Prime Warframe units that populated the shuttle with her and her partner were keyed on, their programs running real-time as the vessel skirted over the newly-erupted warzone and to their destiny.

"Exemplar, we have arrived." One of the Geth Prime intoned with its electronic voice, deep and unfeeling. She merely nodded towards the Warframe as she stepped out of the shuttle still ten meters off the ground as she landed upon _terra firma_ with heavy booted feet, finding herself the host of many pairs of eyes as several Hunters and Destroyers held a large group of men and women of a variety of species hostage, their knees on the grass with a weapon to the backs of their heads. They were surrounded by a series of pre-fab trailers, quick labs for research, no doubt. She looked back up to the shuttle to see the good Doctor glow Biotically as she floated down easily, landing with the graceful ease of a feather as the Asari looked to her with her reddened eyes, nodding once as she strode forward, the seven Prime Warframes exiting the craft and landing behind the human female dressed in Heavy Onyx Armor, labeled with the 'N7' over her heart.

"I... I know you!" One of the captured Asari gasped as she looked at the Doctor, her seafoam-colored eyes going wide at the sight of the armored Asari, the Exalted approaching her first. "There was a human man, a C-Sec Officer, looking for you! Him and two Asari Matriarchs! They said you were missing!" The captured personnel looked at the Asari in question as the Doctor stood a few feet in front of the quivering Thessian. "Y-you were one of the catalogers on the dig on Feros about ten years back. I remember you! You're Doctor T'so..."

" _EMBRACE OBLIVION!"_ The Asari shouted as she lunged forward, grabbing the captured Asari's head with both hands as the Doctor's eyes went pure red, force melding with the Asari in question. The Thessian who knelt at the ground, a Geth Hunter with a shotgun at the back of her head, began to scream in agony as her whole body siezed and convulsed, indigo blood gushing from the ear nodules from behind her crest, as well as her nostrils and tear ducts. The screams lasted but a moment, but when they finally died, the Asari laid twitching on the ground, gibbering unintelligibly. That ceased after a breath as well as the assaulted alien laid on the ground as if dead, her seafoam-colored eyes staring into a burning sky.

"Oh Goddess, she's an Ardat-Yakshi!" One of the other Asari exclaimed in terror, the fear in her voice palatable, even if her knowledge was not. The N7 watched blandly as her Asari cohort melded with that Asari next, briefly noting that the Thessian too was dressed like a doctor; who wore a lab coat to a dig? She watched with muted satisfaction as the Doctor tore into the Asari's mind, stripping away everything; memories torn out in a few beats of the heart. The victim fell to the ground, epileptic and spasming as the female N7 watched her partner step away, frowning.

"I'll need time to process." The Doctor replayed, looking at her with her red-teal eyes. "The first one, Doctor Sandaya M'dronis, specialized in Prothean Paleotechnological Studies. I doubt she'll know much of worth. The second one, though, focused on Prothean holdings and extrastructure. Doctor T'lela's memories might prove useful."

"Good. Wipe them all. Leave a few droolers." The human ordered as she pulled off of her chest her main weapon of choice, cocking back the internal heat-sink exposure slide, watching with satisfaction as the rest of the capturees jolted in fright at the 'click-clank' noise that the heavy shotgun made. Though she doubted any of the eggheads would recognize the illegal M-500 Claymore on sight, she didn't doubt they could see the size of it and reach their own conclusions as the Doctor moved to one of the Salarians, grabbing his skull, and proceeding to drain all of his memories. Then it was a human man. Then a human woman. Another Salarian. A Drell. An Asari. A female Turian. Two more human men. The last available detainee was a younger human woman, possibly just a college intern. The Doctor frowned as she approached the crying human as she begged, and instead of embracing oblivion, merely stood in front of her for a moment, obviously going through the many memories she had just collected.

"Julia. Julia Davenport. Second year, joined the dig in the hopes of being able to watch history being made. A... believer." The Doctor looked to the woman in the N7 armor, a cold smile upon her teal lips. "She competed with with the rest of her class for the opportunity to come, knowing that she would do nothing more than take notes and send data requests. A child with a dream to one day discover something amazing."

"Should have let one of your classmates beat you out." The human woman told the intern, who looked at her with tear-filled eyes.

"Please! Help me! You're a Marine!" The college student begged between sobs, looking at the human woman who stood in front of her. "Don't let her kill me! I... I... I'll do anything you ask!"

"Good." The human woman smiled, though no warmth came to her face as she did so. "Exchange her." The order went to one of the Geth Prime units, who laid down a low tripod device upon the ground from its back as the Destroyer who held the college student at gunpoint picked up the crying woman and pushed her onto the tripod. The weight sensor activated, a long sharp metal rod shot from the tripod, impaling the woman low in her gut, forcing her some several feet in the air as she screamed out in pain and agony as the spike held her aloft. "Do me a favor. When the nanocytes are done converting you into something a little more useful than a damsel in distress, start ferreting out and killing any survivors you find." The N7 turned her back on the college student as young woman began to scream out in pain, the Asari Doctor by her side as the Primes, Destroyers, and Hunters flanked them. "Warframes! Take us to the cache site. We have a meeting that is about fifty thousand years behind schedule. Ready to answer your every dream, Doctor? We've got a beacon to capture."

"Of course, Commander. After you." The Asari replied, a hand on her hugely swollen belly.

"Good. Take us to the Spaceport."

* * *

A/N:I wonder how many of you guessed who the bad guy was, considering the start of every chapter was dedicating the inspiration to 'theorangeguy's' Saren's Effect, in which Commander Shepard was the bad guy. How many of you knew before this chapter? Don't lie.

Oh, Dr. T'soni, I presume?

You were promised lots of little blue babies, Shepsonis. Now you fucking got them without having to pick the Red skittle option.

Surprisingly, coming up with 'Embrace Oblivion' as a polar opposite of 'embrace eternity' was harder than it should have been, but I love the concept. Despair instead of hope, anguish instead of pleasure, finality instead of peace.

I'm really liking BadShep.

For those who aren't versed in Italian, 'Intermezzio' stands for intermission, while 'Exemplar' means a person, a place, an object, or some other entity that serves as an excellent example of a given concept. Or in this case, a Reaper Avatar. I've tossed the idea of an Exemplar around for a while, as there have been several Reaper-based persons of varying degrees; Saren, TIM, the Collectors, the Avatars, the husks, and the Indoctrinated. They will all be covered. Shepard is singular as an Exemplar, while Liara is an Exalted, second tier.

Poor Julia Davenport. Spiked.

ISBM - Inter-Spacial Ballistic Missile. A play on the ICBM, or Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile; a MIRV (Multiple Independantly-targetable Re-entry Vehicle) that usually flies at about Mach 22, is loaded with a nuke strong enough to put a whole in a planet, and is generally depicted as those cute little white lines crossing the globe in any doomsday movie or video game.

GTS - Ground to Space, defense turret that fires missiles (or mass accelerated fire) at space targets. Think of that POS tower on Horizon that we all enjoyed waiting to power up while being pulverized by a large flying bug-tank.


	22. Hale: Eden Prime I

**Hale: Eden Prime I**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Authors' Note: Welcome to Eden Prime! I've heard it's like a paradise...

* * *

Chapter 20: Hale, Eden Prime I

SSV Normandy, Arcturus Stream, April 2, 2183, 1023 Zulu

"Everybody! Onto the shuttle and Mako, on the double!"

The sound of Master Sergeant Paula Maldonado's voice leant speed to the Marines as they piled onto the Utility Transport 47, known as the Kodiak, while another squad piled onto the M35 Mako, the Armored Personnel Carrier pulling itself ready for deployment. Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale watched as the forty Marines scrambled to get ready, putting on their armor, checking and rechecking their weapons, and filing themselves into their appropriate mode of transportation. The Turian SPECTREs, Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik, were standing by the doors of the Kodiak as Warrant Officer Patricia Holloway powered up the UT-47, quickly going through the shuttle's diagnostics and flight check for the quick insertion. Commander Mark Meer, armored in his Aldrin Labs Onyx Interceptor Armor (Light), had already keyed up his tech program known as the OPA, or Omni-Gel Plated Armor, or what the Marines liked to call 'Tech Armor'.

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale first turned on her Electromagnetic Defense kinetic shielding, the EMD that would veer angled shots or slow down true ones, and then her Molecular Ionization Defense barrier, known as the MID Shield. Seeing that her MID was at full charge, and that her EMD read ready at full cycle, the N7 Marine pulled the M-55 Argus from her weapons locker and slapped it onto the hardpoint on her chest, and then grabbed her N7 Typhoon Light Machine Gun, and put that on her back. The next weapon she grabbed was her N7 Eagle Heavy Pistol, sliding that on the hardpoint on her left thigh. An N7 Piranha Shotgun went on her back as well, and then the XO began adding grenades to the utility belt of her N7 Aldrin Labs Onyx Carrier Assembly (Heavy) Armor, grateful that it came with small mass effect fields on her hard points to lighten the loads of her guns. She knew she was reaching the maximum capacity of thirty kilos as she finished loading a dozen grenades on her belt, and then put her Marine-issued Ka-Bar combat knife on the left side of her chest, near her heart, the knife clipping itself to her armor, the titanium-coated blade useful for prying doors, cracking open any containers, and of course the good old-fashion knife kill.

It paid to be prepared.

"Colonel, we're up and prepped, and ready for deployment!" Master Sergeant Maldonado called out from beside the shuttle, everyone else loaded on beside the SPECTREs, Meer, the Master Sergeant, and herself. Hale looked to the Typhoon of Eden Prime and nodded, closing her weapons locker as she pulled out the last weapon she wanted, cocking the ERCS M-100 Anti-Riot Grenade Launcher, touching its on-board computer screen and switching the Omnigel-created grenade loadout to 'fragmentary'. Hoisting the M-100 in her right hand, she approached the shuttle, where both Turian SPECTREs had their mandibles flare open, and the asshat's mouth dropped open.

"Jesus fucking Christ. All you're missing now is an axe and a Viking helmet!" Meer scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really carry that much weaponry during your raids and patrols?" Hale looked at the Commander's own loadout; an ERCS M-3 Predator-2 heavy pistol, an Arikae Tech M-23 Katana series 2 shotgun, and an ERCS M-15 Vindicator 3rd-Gen assault rifle, complimented by his Onyx IA(L). Three grenades were on his utility belt, and the black armor he wore was coated with the glowing Omnigel plates of his Tech Armor.

"Someone went and started a fucking war on my watch, and they're going to pay. Painfully." Jen gritted her teeth, not in a mood to explain herself to the asshat. Yes, it was a more than she was use to carrying, but she saw the footage on the message; those Marines being massacred, that ship descending from the sky, the cries of pain and the strange unknown chittering and warbling at the end of the transmission when it cut off. Someone was attacking a colony, and the icy ball in her stomach told her slavers; someone was reaving another human colony. Thoughts of Mindoir, of the blood and pain and watching her family executed before her eyes flashed in her thoughts, and Meer must have noticed, because even the asshat thought it wise to take a comfortable step back. "Get on the shuttle, Meer, and get ready to fucking destroy something." Meer said nothing as he step foot into the UT-47, going around the door-mounted minigun as the Turians filed behind him, neither one of them saying a word. Hale could care less about the candidacy thing now; all she needed to know was that _her_ people were being invaded and slaughtered, that innocents were probably being neutralized and captured at that very moment.

There wouldn't be another Mindoir, not while she still had breath in her body and a pulse to fuel her rage.

" _Alright, ladies, listen up!_ " The shuttle's intercom piped up as the voice of Chief Warrant Officer Patricia Holloway reached out to them from the cockpit. " _Please stow away all luggage, return your trays, and lock your seats in their upright positions. Observe the 'sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up' light while our stewardess dispense puke bags for you jarheads. Any one of you fucking morons puke in my bird, and I will personally remove your ballsack and make you clean your mess with your tongue. Any questions?_ " The shuttle shuttered as it lifted off the cargo deck of the _Normandy_ , raising a foot as the VTOL thrusters whined with ignition. " _Good! Thanks for choosing Alliance Air; depositing your ass into alien-infested shitholes since 2157!_ "

"Hey! I resemble that remark!" Nihlus Kryik announced out loud, making more than a few of the Marines chuckle, a break in the mood. Jen merely shook her head.

"Chief, you got some music for us?" The N7 called out, watching as the Normandy's cargo bay door slowly opened, giving them a glimpse of Eden Prime through the cockpit's viewer, the planet serene looking if one were oblivious to the attack. "I need something dark, heavy, and moody."

"Ha! Got just the thing for you, Colonel!" The pilot called out as the cargo bay door opened fully, the Mako beside them pulling forward onto the ramp as the Kodiak shifted forward, ready for deployment. "Hope you're a KISS fan. Speed is set to splatter, and we deploy in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…"

A jolt shook the UT-47 Kodiak as Chief Holloway put the forward thrust to maximum, and Hale had to grab onto a ceiling rung to keep from being thrown to the back of the craft, all the seats occupied by the enlisted and lower Officer ranks. Meer and the Turians were standing as well, and Jen got a little satisfaction out of watching Meer stumble back and land on his ass, sliding back towards the rear of the craft in front of no less than twenty-five Marines. The SPECTREs had no such issues, which suited her fine; she had no issues with the Turians. Hell, two SPECTREs on an anti-slaver mission would be nice to have. They would need their firepower, as this was probably the smallest group of Marines Hale had ever led into combat against slaves or pirates. She was use to leading a battalion, or at least several companies, not something so small as a platoon. She could only hope that they would be enough to stop the atrocities that were undoubtedly happening.

And then Jen heard the beginnings of a thumping bass line and bass drum, a pounding throb supported by a simple electric guitar riff. Hale found herself tapping her foot and moving her head to the time of the beat, the music infecting her nerves and soul as she felt it infuse her, channeling her anger and rage into a living thing, like a walking weapon of mass destruction itching to vent its fury on some fucking asshole who was begging for it. It had been the same in every anti-slaver operation she had ever been in, the living rage inside her she called the Butcher, the thing that lived in her that howled for blood and death, the pain and rage swelling inside of her, fueling her need for vengence. The Kodiak blasted towards the planet as the Mako fell behind, and the words came to her, and the Butcher in her began to smile. Holloway picked well.

" _You've got something about you_

 _You've got something I need_!

 _Daughter of Aphrodite_

 _Hear my words and take heed!_

 _I was born on Olympus_

 _To my father a son!_

 _I was raised by the demons_

 _And trained to reign as the one!_

 _God of Thunder… and rock n' roll!_

 _The spell your under… will slowly rob you of your virgin soul!_

 _I'm the sole lord of the wastelands_

 _A modern day man of steel_!

 _I gather darkness to please me_

 _And I command you to kneel! (before the)_

 _God of Thunder… and rock n' roll!_

 _The spell your under… will slowly rob you of your virgin soul!"_

"Spirits!" Nihlus warbled over the pounding bassline, holding onto the ceiling railing to keep from losing his footing as the shuttle shuddered and shook as it plummeted towards Eden Prime, the heavy chop of re-entry vibrating the vessel to the point that Hale wondered if she were going to shake a molar loose. "Stuck on an Alliance vessel, surrounded by Human Marines, listening to bad Earth music. My sire would be proud of his hatchling, now!" That had Jen smile, cracking the stony facade that seemed to seep into her face. Her anger was virulent, and any that looked at her either couldn't match her gaze or fed off her rage. Saren looked at her without expression or emotion, and she stared at him for a good long moment, watching him slowly nod his head. She returned it; they were on the same page, and that brought her a small comfort.

"Entering heavy atmo! Get ready for the chops!" The Warrant Officer called out as the shuttle shook and rattled harder, seemingly hard enough to shake the flying personnel carrier into pieces as it streaked through the sky. Hale looked out the access door, a barrier separating the crew inside from the elements of space and the burn-in towards the planet, and she saw the sight of no less than six Dreadnoughts hovering over the skies of Eden Prime, looking something akin to praying mantises, a type of vessel she had never seen before. She looked back for Meer, who was standing near her, having recovered himself, and she jerked her head to indicate for him to look. The Naval Commander scowled, but did what she asked, and looked at what she saw. The sight had him pale.

"Who the fuck is that? Who flies those vessels?" Hale asked, Saren dipping his head, seeing the Dreadnoughts. Meer was a Navy man, and would know how to recognize just about every type of vessel from every species.

"I… fuck… I've never seen the like before." Meer admitted, slowly shaking his head, turning to Hale. "Those definitely _aren't_ Batarian design, and I've never seen any of the Warlords of the Terminus or the Traverse fly anything remotely like that. And there's six of them."

"This deep in Counsel space? Alliance space?" Saren wondered, shaking his own head. "The Exodus Cluster is the Alliance's third-most heavily guarded system. How did they get here without raising one alarm? That's… three relay jumps from the Attican. How did three Dreadnoughts avoid Counsel patrols and observation posts?"

"Kick ass now, blame people later." Hale interrupted, the shuttle still vibrating worryingly, undoubtedly stressing the metals and joints of the shuttle as they burned in. "This… we might need to think of this as a First Contact, Arterius. If none of us recognize those vessels, and they didn't just magically appear, they may have come from a recently-opened relay _they_ discovered."

"Shit. Hadn't thought of that." Meer admitted sheepishly. "If it's a new species, they got some ships. Each one of those were definitely in the Dreadnought-class. Probably about _Orizaba's_ tonnage." The _Orizaba_ was the Alliance's newest, and largest, Dreadnought. "I know the rules say for First Contact is to establish contact…"

"Which I will. With my fucking boot." Hale interrupted, cutting off the asshat. "They attacked us without warning, and brought six Dreadnoughts to the mix. They aren't here to have us take them to our leaders, Mark."

"Agreed." Saren replied, surprising both of the humans. "Counsel Law may state that if this were a First Contact situation, we _should_ make peace. But this is an act of war. We shall answer in kind." Nihlus merely nodded his head.

"Well, no surprise the Turians want to shoot first and ask forgiveness later." Hale muttered to herself, making Meer snort, a lopsided grin breaking his normally passive face. Jen had to admit that despite all the recruitment posters of his normally-brandishing bullshit smile, this one seemed genuine. "I'm setting the squads for evacuation and defense while we go for this Prothean Beacon. Anything else, we're just going to have to make it up as we go."

"No surprise the Human wants to go and 'wing it'." Saren returned, making Nihlus laugh out loud, and Hale felt her cheeks heating up, the SPECTRE obviously remembering the conversation from… well over two week ago? "We should work together, coordinate our efforts towards making our push as fast and as deep as possible. A team of four highly-qualified warriors can make a breach into enemy territory in a much better manner than an army can. We look for positional weaknesses and exploit them, and strike deep."

"Ten seconds to deployment!" Chief Holloway called out, the shuttle still barreling nose-down straight for the planet. Hale could see GTS batteries and Anti-Air platforms beginning to fire… at them. She recognized Alliance hardware, and pursed her lips at the thought of someone hacking into Alliance Defense, turning their own weapons against them. That was suppose to be a near-impossible feat. Thankfully, Holloway knew her shit as she put the thrusters onto afterburner, setting the speed to maximum as they burned in straight towards the ground at a zero degree angle; they were going to lawn-dart the fucking planet. The Lieutenant Colonel knew the tactic that the Warrant Officer was about to do, a tactic known as a HALO Drop; they were literally gong to stop within meters of the ground if the pilot got it right, or ended up blasted by GTS missiles or splattered against the ground if she got it wrong. Either way would be spectacular.

"All hands! Prepare to pull heavy G's!" Hale called out as she grabbed for the ceiling rungs with both hands, the Turians and Meer doing the same after they saw her do so. "And whatever you do, don't puke towards the cockpit!"

"Rotating… Now!"

The pilot's voice was the only warning they had for the HALO Drop maneuver in a shuttle, a split second before the Warrant Officer executed it. The UT-47 Kodiak, pointed nose-first towards Eden Prime and accelerating at full speed, flipped on its x-axis, rotating one-hundred and thirty-five degrees, where both the docking thrusters and the main thrusters were pointing at a forty-five degree angle towards the planet. The Warrant Officer continued to accelerate, sloping the degree of their rapid decent, the docking thruster meant to slow their decent towards the planet while the main thrusters on the back were meant to change their angle. This was done at a hundred meters Above Ground Level, and the shuttle immediately began to groan with the stress as everything immediately began to get heavier with the accumulation of gravity from the rapid deceleration process. Hale knew somewhere in the back of her mind that this maneuver could multiply at least four times normal Earth Gravity, and do as much as six; black-out range for most humans. The N7 could feel her weight increasing suddenly, her legs straining to stand up as downward became somewhere near the back of the shuttlecraft, her hands clutching at the ceiling rungs to keep herself from sliding back and splattering against the back of the UT-47. She grunted with the effort of keeping herself from breaking from the increase of gravity, which immediately began to bleed off, decreasing rapidly as the shuttle began to correct its rapid deceleration, beginning to provide lift and vector to the vessel as it started to curve, moving forward as oppose to just downward. The 'Collision Imminent' alarm was ringing throughout the UT-47 as thrusted forward, the amount of gravity decreasing as forward velocity exceeded downward velocity, and the shuttle scraped a few trees as the Warrant Officer got control of the shuttle, keeping the vessel as low as she could as Lieutenant Colonel Hale stuck her head out the deployment door, surveying Eden Prime.

It was a Goddamn warzone.

"Master Sergeant Maldonado? As soon as we hit dirt, start having our men sweep and clear the immediate vicinity." Hale relayed to the Typhoon of Eden Prime via their comm link, the senior noncom acknowledging the order. "I'll need you to find whatever left of the garrisons here and get as much an intel dump as we can and start coordinating retaliatory efforts and designated points of strength for whatever resembles a military down there."

"Ma'am, what about relief efforts and rescue operations?" Lieutenant (junior grade) Kaiden Alenko asked, sitting next to the Master Sergeant on the UT-47, his face clearly indicating that he knew that events were well out-of-control. Hale couldn't help but notice that he was a man that knew that he was well in over his head. It was too late to do anything about that now, but at least the Typhoon would have him by her side. Master Sergeant Paula Maldonado was one of the best soldiers that Lieutenant Colonel Hale had ever seen.

"Secondary." Hale grimaced, hating the fact that she had to make that decision. "We don't have the equipment, facilities, manpower, or transportation to take even a few. If we can distract whoever the hell this is, strike deep and hard, disrupt some of their plans, that will save lives and possibly give the civilians time to evacuate. Remember, we spent as much time trying to protect civilians during the FCW as we did fighting the Turians, dropping our effective strength. The forty of us aren't fighting a war; we're here to complete a mission and to fuck up somebody's world while doing so. _Do you get me_?"

" _WE GET YOU, COLONEL!"_ The sound of twenty-five Marines echoing one another filled the shuttle with their voices, the anger a living, breathing thing. Hale looked at the men and women in the shuttle, and nodded once. Most had at least a tour of duty under their belts, even if they hadn't done more than a police action or a sweep-and-clear after a Naval bombardment. Today would have a lot of war cherries popped, Hale thought with a sinister cast as the Butcher in her howled, fighting for control as the shuttle landed on _terra firma_ , Hale jumping out of the vessel, being followed by the SPECTREs and the Marines inside, Commander Meer exiting last. Once everyone had exfilled out of the UT-47 save for the two gunners, Chief Holloway lifted the shuttle back into the sky to provide surveillance and local air support, knowing her job and doing it; to fly into hot zones and reign death from above. They may have made delicious targets for anti-air defenses, but their skills in reconniascence and bringing the hate was hard to deny. Marine Chief Warrent Officers were crazy like that.

"Gunny! Conduct twenty-five-by-fives!" Hale shouted orders as the rage boiled inside of her, the vicious need for blood growling in her, impatient and selfish. "Get your men into assembled fire teams and lead with the Mako! Support and clearing operations towards any and all hostiles you or Holloway observe! If you find any friendly resistance, snap them up and get them effective!"

"Roger, Colonel." The Typhoon replied, hoisting her M-96 Mattock to her shoulder, the older Marine nodding once as she looked over to the Marines that had exited the shuttle as the Mako drove onto the scene, stopping briefly to drop ramp and have its compliment of Marines exfill out of the armored personnel carrier, its 25 gram cannon scanning the area with its co-axial Marshall machine gun alongside the main cannon for suppression and clearing infantry. Marines now on the ground, Master Sergeant Maldonaldo quickly organized them into two columns to trail the Mako, to use the armor as a point of cover and defense while its cannon cleared out opposition while the Marines would engage anything with anti-armor weaponry while spotting out any opposition with their better field-of-view being out in the open as oppose to the view slats and camera interfaces that the driver of the armored personnel carrier relied upon. "We're up, Colonel! Sounds like the fighting is to our north-by-northwest. We'll head to the thick of things while you complete your mission."

"Good. Have at it." Hale replied, glad that she had the Master Sergeant for a Platoon Sergeant. The Typhoon was notorious for her hatred for slavers, having lost her whole family to the same attack on Mindoir that she herself suffered save that Paula Maldonaldo had been a Corporal in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, and had been stationed at Terra Nova while her husband and son were taken and enslaved by Batarians. The N7 had no issued trusting the Typhoon of Eden Prime in tackling slavers and saving people; they easily saw eye-to-eye on such things, both survivors of Torfan. "SPECTREs? Let's head out towards this Prothean device. I don't doubt we'll face stiff resistance along the way."

"Indeed." Saren Arterius replied with a simple nod of his head as he held his HMWAR VII at the ready. "Today is a good day for someone else to die."

* * *

 _War, war never changes,_ Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale thought to her self as she stomped through low grasslands of the surrounding area of Constant, Eden Prime, the colonial capital smoldering as hell visited upon the aquarean city. Though not the largest city on Eden Prime, it had been the colony's first settlement, established back during the early '50's, a well-planned development focused on agriculture and livestock. Eden Prime was one of three 'bread-basket' colonies of the Alliance, producing some twenty percent of its dietary needs, and was more important for the colonies where crop sustainability and self-suficiency weren't possible due to atmosphere, water, or other issues that came up when one planet a flag in a new land. Hale looked off to the short skyline of Constant, seeing the smoky haze and plumbs of black that were the easy markers of an assault, the invasion of Eden Prime fully underway as she scanned the area surround herself and her three team members. Things felt... wrong, in her mind; this wasn't what she thought it would be. Upon receiving the emergency broadcast from Lieutenant Durand, she had only one chilling thought; slavers. But the usual signs weren't there, while a set of different signs were. Slavers generally didn't destroy buildings and shoot anything that moved on the ground. Fifteen minutes into the mission, and Hale had already seen dozens of human bodies sprawled upon their impromptu deathbeds, shot, burned, or torn. Slavers used pulse and electric-based weaponry to ensure maximum survival while incapacitating a target, and generally only used lethal weapons against the obvious defenders, usually Alliance Marines or Colonial Army. Yet here she could see civilians scorched and shot, gunned down or burned alive while fleeing. That wasn't slaver tactics.

Something was very, very wrong.

"What are those things?" Saren Arterius pointed something out as they moved towards the location of the dig site of the Prothean Beacon, the coordinates given to them with the mission. Electronic jamming had interfered with electronic navigation, so Hale was having to do it the old-school way; a map, a lensatic compass, and an azimuth. N's were still taught such things, especially for their N4 course, in which was known as the Pathfinder Course. It was to conquer doubt, and what better place to doubt yourself than in the middle of a frozen Northern Canadian forest armed with a map, a compass, and a vague idea on where to go, armed with only a knife? N candidates had died frozen and lost on the N4 Course. Jen finally looked at what the Turian SPECTRE had pointed out with one of his talons, and saw some floating creature that vaguely resembled a Hanar, though it looked more like a floating creampuff with dangling legs than jellyfish on a hoverchair.

"Gasbags. I think." The Marine replied, her eyes moving away from the floating indiginous life form and towards the route she had marked. She was rather glad she had taken the Pathfinder Course now; data-jamming and electronic countermeasures had been playing havoc with all of their systems. HUDs crackled and sputtered, Omnitools turned on and off for no apparant reason, and their radios were useless as the drone of static snow hissed in their ears. Thankfully, their earpiece translators were hard-coded and nigh-unhackable, otherwise the mission would have gotten a lot more difficult if all they could do to communicate was to point something out and grunt, hand-and-arm signals different between humans and Turians. Hale had turned off her armor's VI-driven diagnostics program, watching as the HUD of her helmet's visor disappeared, no longer the mirage-like electronic display that sputtered and distorted, populated with static and ghost targets. Thankfully, she didn't use auto-correct targetting software in her weapons or her HUD; God forbid she didn't need them, but the chilling thought of an enemy's malware getting into her weapons sickened her. "C'mon. Dig site's on this azimuth about two kilometers in. Eyes open and stick close to the humans, boys." She fixed a glance at both Saren and Nihlus, who both looked at her. "Last time the words 'war' and 'Turian' were put together, we're were shooting at you guys. Don't need some hayseed hick farmer thinking this is FCW II. Copy?"

"Is that why you brought me? So you don't look like a traitor leading Turians about?" Commander Mark Meer asked. Hale seriously contemplated letting her anger have its fun on the Hero of Akuze. It was a close call, but she held onto the reins.

"Not at all, Mark." Hale replied with a venomous smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was thinking that I could have you stand somewhere and shake your ass like you do at all those USO shows to provide us a distraction." The comment had the Naval Commander's jaw drop open as Nihlus began to laugh, his mandibles flaring wide open as even Saren enjoyed a chuckle. The moment was sadly short-lived, in Jen's opinion as Meer's face went beet red, and a look of absoulte contempt sullied his features. "Guess that'll be the last time you mention the word 'traitor'. Understand me, _Mister_ Meer?"

"Aye aye." The man replied, though the ugly look on his face didn't disappear.

"Good." Jen resolved herself to having to keep an eye out on the Navy Commander. If he didn't like her before, she didn't doubt that it just went up tenfold after deflating his ego a little. Unfortunately, the man struck her as the kind of little backstabber that would make her life as miserable as hell, calling her out on every little nitpick bullshit he could find. What was she suppose to do? The asshole had insinuated that she was a traitor just because she was working around a pair of Turian SPECTREs...

 _Yet somehow, asshat is just strolling along with a pair of Turians, and everything's hunky-dory._ Jen fumed as she continued to march towards the dig site, going over a low-rolling hill that thankfully wasn't decorated with dead bodies. _Oh, but get me into the equation, and somehow I'm the alien-loving freak... oh... oh shit... couldn't be..._

"Nihlus? Need your eyes for spotting." Hale called out, the Turian SPECTRE perking up as he loped forward, quickly catching up to her in their column that she led. "Just over the crest of this hill..." The Marine waved vaguely in front of her, getting the SPECTRE to nod his head as they both moved forward, Meer and Arterius hanging back at the bottom of the hill. Both Human and Turian made their way up the rest of the hill, Nihlus plucking the HMWAR VII from his back as they laid in the prone just short of the crest of the hill to avoid skylining themselves as Hale held her M-55 Argus tight to her shoulder, making it look like she was going to use her weapon as she looked over to the Turian SPECTRE, staring at him until he noticed.

"Meer's Cerberus, isn't he?" The Lieutenant Colonel asked the male Turian laying next to her in a spotters' position, her tone as hard as steel. "That's what you discovered, isn't it? He's one of them fucking pro-human extremist assholes who thinks terrorist ops and assassinations are excusable as long as you're flying the racist flag?" Nihlus looked at her for a long moment, his eyes and mandibles betraying nothing as she stared him down, never blinking once. It was the SPECTRE who lost.

"We think so, yes."

"I... fucking... God _damn_ him!" Hale spat out, her temper rising dangerously. "That cocksucker was in my fucking Class at the Naval Academy! At my N course! Now he's on my _fucking_ ship! A Goddamn piece-of-shit terrorist in Alliance Blue. God _DAMN_ him!" It wasn't that it was so hard to believe out of Meer, but if he had made it this far in the Alliance without being discovered, the poster child of the Military... that meant there were heavy-hitters on his side, Hale realized. Fucker was at the same damn selection board that was going to make her a SPECTRE! They accused Lieutenant Colonel Sara Carter of being Cerberus, but somehow missed the walking penis with an ego a parsec wide? That wasn't a ball dropped by ONI... that was falsification of records, cover-up, and painting a prettier picture all wrapped up in a bow. That wasn't done by some Able Seaman or Petty Officer... that took Commissioned Officers, probably at flag-rank. That thought filled her soul with ice. Just how high were those friends of his? Just how far was their reach? Was there anyone she could trust? Just the knowledge was dangerous, she couldn't just accuse a man of being a Cerberus Operative without having some evidence or proof. But she had to come forward somehow. The Office of Naval Intelligence was out of the question; infiltration of that branch was the obvious start if a terrorist organization wanted to protect its members. The Admiralty Board... might be a possibility, but most had voted for Meer, while Saren had explained how almost the entirety of the Board initials with her traumas and high-end tempo against slavers. Who could she trust with such information, to move forward with such an accusation?

 _I could trust Ahern with this._ Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale thought to herself, mulling it out. _Grissom... no one's got a bigger hard-on for stomping traitors than Jon fucking Grissom. If there were two men who wouldn't bullshit around and look deep, it'd be them, especially if it came to the blow that would come later if it got out in public that the Alliance's darling little poster boy was a part of a terrorist group._

"Fuck." Hale breathed out, shaking her head as she pushed the disturbing thought aside, remembering that they had something more important to deal with. "Thank you, Nihlus. For the truth. I'm pretty sure you weren't suppose to tell me."

"Jennifer," That surprised Hale, Nihlus using her first name like that... he hadn't done it before, "there are secrets that you keep from subordinates... and then there are secrets that you tell your friends. I trust you and respect you, Commander."

"Shit, now you're going to make me blush." Hale muttered, making the Turian chuckle. "But don't be getting any ideas, big guy. Super swingin' Turian sex machine might do it for the short fringes and blue girls, but I like cuddling things that don't feel like Tuff-grit Sandpaper. I am most _definitely_ not going to be species number... wherever the hell you're at now. Friends means friends _without_ benefits. And call me Jen."

"Fair enough, Colonel... Jen." The Turian replied, and Hale saw him smile, not a charming smile or a laughing smile where his mandibles wiggled slightly, but a real smile. One that one gave to a comrade. "And I'm aiming for species number six."

"...Yep, my brain is now ruined."

* * *

A/N: God of Thunder by Kiss, c. 1974. Nowhere close to my favorite Kiss song, but listen to this sucker while manning a .50 cal while chasing down some baddies is pretty hard to deny. For those who need a Warlist on your music devices, you really can't go wrong with AC/DC and NWA.

25 gram cannon - I don't remember the specs of the M-35 Mako, but the main cannon is based off the M2 Bradley's 25mm chain cannon, while it's coaxial machine gun is based off the M240C machine gun. We simply call it the 'doorknocker' due to the noise and rate of fire it makes (it seriously sounds like someone hammering on a metal door with a hammer!)

3-Man Squads - Seriously, I really don't give a shit how elite an N7 is suppose to be, going into a warzone with three people is suicidal; you can't assault, ambush, break contact, bound, post overwatch, or cut down an enemy's supply, not to mention that you can't carry any specialties with you. It's Rambo bullshit. Your standard Army team (Infantry, Ranger, and yes, even the Green Berets) is 4-6. And no team works by itself, supplimenting another team of 4-6 who is generally only a few hundred meters away... and that's a squad; the lowest actionable unit in Army Doctrine. And just to clarify, the Seals also work in teams of 4-6, though they are also generally in tandem with another team of Seals, or in support of another ground unit numbering higher. The only group would would work with that few people (not in a life-or-death situation) is Law Enforcement agencies, where police officers either have a singular partner... or are working by themselves. That's... ballsy. Don't think so? Find yourself a nice crack neighborhood and walk straight down the middle of it with the most racially-offensive clothing you can find, and you'll probably be wishing you had a shotgun. Because that's what cops pretty much face every day. Damn.

Nihlus Kryik is a pusshound. I'll even come up with the five difference species he's banged. Turian, Asari, Drell, Quarian, and Batarian.


	23. Arterius: Eden Prime

**Arterius: Eden Prime**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 21: Arterius, Eden Prime I

Constant, Eden Prime, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183, 1119 Zulu

"Drones!"

The sound of Commander Jennifer Hale's voice calling out a target had Saren Arterius build up the electrical charge of Biotic energy that was collected in the Eezo nodes under his plates, feeling the familiar tingle of static discharge rushing towards his talons as he held out a hand and flexed the discharge outward, creating a protective barrier that enveloped his body as the impact of mass accelerated round impacted against the watery surface of the barrier. Saren saw the attackers, and was shocked to see that the drones were really small flying craft not much bigger than some hover-cams that reporters and vid-makers used, save that these were armed with what appeared to be a sub-machine gun with a high heat-sink capacity. The Biotic Turian gritted his mandibles as the round impacted against his barrier, forcing him to create more of an electrostatic discharge to maintain it. The drones were fast and nimble, small enough to miss, and quick enough to miss easily. Yet the three drones had never met anyone quite like Commander Hale as she pulled out her pistol, the one she called the N7 Eagle, and proceeded to draw and fire the pistol three times in rapid succession, quicker than the Turian could believe. All three drones sputtered and fell to the earth, crashing into the dirt with the accompanying sound of metal impacts and an electronic squeal of death.

"...the fuck?" Hale asked, still holding her Eagle in both hands as she lowered the pistol, walking forward towards the drones as Saren dropped his barrier, lowering his talons as he hauled out his HMWSM VII Submachine Gun in his right hand, pointing it in the direction the drones had come from to cover the female Marine as he, too, approached the downed mechs. "Huh. Recon drones, I think." The N7 mused, kicking one over with one of her booted feet, seeing the underbelly of the machine. "Never heard of anyone using flying utility drones as a warform before. Strange manufacture, too. You recognize it, Arterius?"

"I don't." Saren replied, kneeling down to grab the drone in question, moving it about in his talons as he looked for anything to identify it; a manufacturers' plate, a serial number, some written langua... ha! Saren found a series of lettering that he didn't recognize, slashes of some sort. He pointed them out to Hale, who shook her head. "Pity the extranet is down. But this looks similar to hover-cams one sees for entertainment."

"Sonofabitch, it does." Hale replied, looking as if she were pondering something. "Salarians like their mechs, but this doesn't look Salarian. Writing doesn't look Salarian, either. Asari and Turians don't use Warbots. Hanar? They get touchy with Prothean artifacts, I've been told."

"But Hanar don't have Dreadnoughts, especially not six of them." Saren pointed out, seeing the Human chew on her lower horizontal mandible. "If this were the Volus, it would be of heavier manufacture to withstand Irune's greater pressure, and if it were Elcor, it would have stronger stabilizers for Dekuuna's higher gravity. And Batarians don't trust mechs."

"Well, we're not figuring it out here." The Human Marine sighed, shouldering her Turian Battle Rifle, the M-55 held against her chest. "Let's shake a leg and get to that Prothean device. The sooner we recover it, the sooner we can get to shooting fuckers and making sure my men are still alive and well." Saren had noticed that the Marine would look in the direction of Constant, to their south, with a worried expression on her face-plates. Her team of forty Marines were in the thick of things in the Colonial capital city of Eden Prime, charged with providing as much relief to Eden Prime's undoubtedly beleaguered forces as well as striking out at enemy strongpoints. They wouldn't take back the planet with forty men, but there were enough of them to hit something important, to give someone else a chance to do some good somewhere else. That was how wars were won; a piece at a time. "Let's move out." The N7 Commander moved forward, taking point as Saren took second, Nihlus right behind him, and trailed by Commander Mark Meer. The Turian sneered at the thought of the race-traitor that walked at the rear of their column, a suspected Cerberus Operative. Hale wasn't informed about the implication that they had discovered monitoring Meer through his Omnitool which recorded not only his conversations, but any extranet access and workstation protocols. The conversation between Commander Meer and Admiral Ahern had been rather enlightening, to say the least. He wished the Admiral had slapped the man around some more!

If they hadn't been stationed on an Alliance vessel, Saren would have shot the male Alliance Navy Commander in the head on the spot.

The four-man column moved forward through the war-torn countryside of Eden Prime, passing by scorched ground, decimated trees, and scattered bodies either gunned down or burnt beyond recognition. Saren, despite a veteran of the 314 Relay Incident and two decades of service as a SPECTRE, was sickened at the sight of totality that was being visited upon Eden Prime, the sounds of gunfire and explosions constantly coming from the capital city, Constant. He could only hope that the colonists were being evacuated or able to defend themselves. Having seen how the colonists and militias of Shanxi operated, Spirits knew that Humanity could be surprising when backed in a corner. During their forced march towards the dig site, they had encountered more of what Commander Hale called 'recon drones', seemingly coming in waves of three. The first batch didn't last much longer than the initial group as Hale gunned down two of the drones, and Nihlus took out the third with his Specter Gear Assault Rifle. The second group fared a little better, not being bunched up together as Saren hit one with a Throw Field that smashed it against the trunk of a tree while Hale and Nihlus shot at the other two, sending the drones into oblivion.

"Relatively easy." Nihlus called out as he lowered his HMWAR VII Rifle, his eyes scanning around, as did Hale's and Saren's. The Biotic Turian noted that Meer had been silent the entire time, and hadn't fired once. A quick look showed the man not to be even watching their perimeter, nor their rear, standing there with his M-15 Vindicator, his usual look of detachment on his face-plates. Saren thought the man lost in a battle-trace from the horrors of war, but he remembered that this Human was supposedly responsible for bringing down a Thresher Maw, single-handed and on foot. The rest of his unit had been devoured or melted by the creatures' highly-caustic acid, something that should be as horrifying as this. So the Human shouldn't have issues with such trauma. Why was he so blithe, so unhelpful?

Knowing that the man was a possible Cerberus Operative didn't help ease Saren's doubts.

They continued to march towards the beacon when the SPECTRE heard a series of shots in front of them, raising his HMWSM VII Submachine Gun at the ready as Hale and Nihlus lifted their Assault Rifles, taking cover behind a rocky outcropping as they spied a Human female in white-and-pink armor running towards them at full speed, armed with a pistol in her hand. The woman stumbled as her armors' barriers flared, a round impacting through her defenses and obviously striking her. Much to Saren's surprise, the woman purposefully fell to the ground, landing on her back instead of her front, took aim with the pistol in her hand, and proceeded to rapid fire six shots at an incoming recon drone that was giving chase to her. The drone faltered and fell to the ground as the woman quickly got back to her feet, holstering her pistol on her thigh and pulling out her Assault Rifle off her back.

Behind the woman were three mech warframes; bipedal synthetic device mechanoids armed with shotguns.

"Army! Get down!" Hale shouted as she fired her Argus at the middle warframe, while Nihlus and Saren took the outside mechs. He was shocked to see that his actually bounded away after the first impacts of his Specter Gear Submachine Gun, diving out of the way as its kinetic shields absorbed the first three rounds from his weapon. The mech got up on its feet and aimed its rifle at him as Saren flung a Lift Orb at the synthetic, causing it to float in the air as if gravity were turned off. The mechanoid flailed uselessly as it floated, making it spin in multiple directions as the SPECTRE fired at the target until it stopped twitching, deactivating the Lift and letting it crash onto the ground. He saw that the other two warframes were put down as well; Hale's was missing its head, while Nihlus's was missing most of its chest.

It was then he noticed that the Human female in pink-and-white armor was pointing her rifle... at him.

"Staff Sergeant! Stand down!" Commander Hale ordered, her voice loud and firm as the newcomer looked from Saren, then to Hale, and back to Saren before slowly lowering what appeared to be a Human-made M-96 Mattock, a regular issued-weapon to militia and Alliance Colonial Army. Saren looked the woman over, seeing her rank tagged at the center of her chest, just above the curved bulges of her breastplate; three arrows pointing up with a curved bar underneath. There was a printing of the female's name just above where Humans had their heart; 'Williams, A.' "These are friendlies, Staff Sergeant Williams. Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

"SPECTREs?" The weapon slowly slid onto her back, collapsing into its carrying configuration as the woman pulled off her half-helmet, showing her slightly brownish skin-plates, what Humans called a 'tan', along with black fur-crest upon her head where a fringe would be, save that it had been contorted into some ball at the back of her head. It looked painful. "Oh man, never thought I'd be happy to see a Turian in a warzone, but right about now..." The Human female let off a pained sigh as she looked to her left shoulder, stuck her armored hand underneath her pauldron, and it came back stained red; Human blood. "Do any of you got any spare Medigel? I used all of mine... on my squad." The woman looked at her bloody hand, and then at them. "I'm all that's left."

"Nihlus? Meer? Perimeter guard." Hale commanded, and while the Turian SPECTRE in question complied quickly enough, Meer's face-plates turned into a scowl as he sauntered somewhere from where they had come. "C'm here, Sergeant Williams. Let me take a look at that shoulder and get you patched up, and you can explain to me what happened since I saw you last on that emergency beacon."

"You saw our distress call? Hot damn, reinforcements." Williams hooted as she walked over, removing the pauldron from her shoulder with a grimace. Saren watched as Hale inspected the wound, an in-and-out. That surprised him; the round had went through the Human's barriers, armor, shoulder, and at least through the other side of her armored pauldron again. One single round. That indicated heavily-modified, highly-illegal rounds at the very least, probably with equally discouraged weapon modifications. Of course, someone went an invaded a colony; the SPECTRE doubted the charges of illegal small-arms modifications would every be brought up. If Hale found the perpetrator, he would hold them down while she put a bullet in their head, if need be. "Oh, man. We were on patrol, the 212 Eden Prime Colonial Army, I mean, covering the excavation site for the past week when everything went to hell about an hour ago. I... I think they're Geth."

"Geth?" Saren asked, surprised. That was a heady conclusion. "Explain. Please." He had to remember to use _some_ manners. Humans and Turians generally did not get along. Williams eyed him hard, but relented when Commander Hale gave her a nod as she pulled out a tube of Medigel and began dabbing some on the gunshot wound.

"Well, they're not patrol bots or sentry guards. Didn't see anyone organic giving them orders." The Staff Sergeant reasoned. "I've also never seen mechs that could jump, dodge, climb, or work together like a unit. They... they're intelligent, not programmed. You saw the one that dived from your shots. No robot I know of is manufactured to move that way, much less trying to avoid rounds or take cover. Mechs just absorb hits. These things _react_."

"Geth." Hale murmured as she dabbed more Medigel onto both sides of the woman's shoulder, Williams fighting a grimace. "Explains why we don't recognize them. Hiding behind the Veil for the past three centuries, making up whatever bullshit they can. Now they're here. Thinking what I'm thinking, Arterius?"

"They're here for the Beacon." That much was obvious. Why else would the Geth invade Human space? They hadn't left the Perseus Veil since the Quarians lost Rannoch, and he would have thought that the first order of business the AI race would accomplish would be the destruction of the Quarian Flotilla. Jumping into Alliance Space when they never interacted with Humanity would be strange... unless Humans had something they wanted. But why would the Geth want a Prothean Beacon?

"Okay, Williams, best I can do with what I got." The Commander announced, capping off the Medigel, the substance that was part blood-clotter, part antiseptic, part antibiotic, and part temporary adhesive, along with a mild sedative and pain-killer. It was a remarkable invention that Mankind created that would stop wounds from becoming worse in battle, providing some lightly- to moderately-wounded soldiers to continue on, and giving those severely wounded a chance to survive. "How's the shoulder?"

"It's good, ma'am." Williams' eyes went to the N7 badge that was on the Commanders' breastplate, and then to the stenciled name on her armor. "Holy shit! Are you _the_ Major Hale? I mean... Colonel?" The Sergeant's horizontal mandibles split open in a grin when Hale nodded her helmeted head. "Fuck yes! We call for back-up, and we got the Butcher of Torfan! These toasters are so screwed!" Interesting... a Human that saw Hale in a positive light. He had heard that many in the Alliance Military approved of Hale, the term 'Butcher' to them an honorific, not a determent. "Please tell me you brought a fleet?"

"Frigate." Hale pulled off her helmet, her scarred skin-plates slightly moist... sweat. Williams' horizontal mandibles dropped in disbelief at the explanation. "We landed with forty Marines, two SPECTREs, and the Zero of Akuze. If you want to get back in the fight, we could use someone who knows the terrain. Our Omnitools are hacked, and I'm working off a physical map with a lensatic compass, but I'd rather have local knowledge and intelligence at my side, Sergeant Williams. You game to playing kick the can?"

"Damn straight I am!" The Army Staff Sergeant growled, rotating her injured shoulder once, and slapped her pauldron back on. She then replaced her helmet back onto her head before pulling her Mattock off of her back, extending it into combat configuration. "There's a few chests that need names carved into them." Brutal, Saren thought to himself. He approved.

"Beacon first, Williams. Denying the enemy what it wants is our victory here. We're not wining a war with a platoon." Hale told the soldier, who visibly deflated. "Keep your head up and in the game, Williams. I don't want to be digging any more graves."

"Yes, ma'am." The soldier looked mollified, but she nodded all the same. "April is the cruelest month, after all."

" _Breeding lilacs from out of dead lands_. T.S. Elliot. Appropriate." The Human Marine replied, surprising Williams, and confusing Saren. "Don't worry, Saren. I'll explain Human poetry to you later. Right now, we got a Beacon to recover. Williams? Lead us to the dig site in a way that won't involve robot ambushes. Kryik? Meer? Let's _move out!_ "

* * *

Of course the Beacon wasn't there.

Saren Arterius focused his attention on Commander Jennifer Hale, who was using a pre-fab building as cover and concealment before moving forward to what Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams identified as the researchers outpost. Everyone was behind the pre-fab as Hale stuck her head out from around the corner to see if the path was clear, and knew something was wrong when her head snapped back. He took one look at her and saw that her blue eyes were _very_ wide, and her skin-plates seemed to be turning white, even through her helmets' visor, he could tell. She looked quickly once more, and then began to mutter Human 'swearing' words.

"Oh fuck. They're impaling people." Hale whispered to their group, electing a gasp out of Sergeant Williams, and a disbelieving look from Commander Mark Meer. Nihlus looked flabbergasted as well. He himself wasn't sure if he had heard right. "I don't know why Geth would do that, but there's about a dozen people impaled on spikes, hoisted in the air. They..." The Human Marine looked to Williams, her horizontal mandibles tight on her face. "You said there was a unit here? Protecting the researchers?"

"The 232." Williams replied, and then her face-plates went white, too. "Are they...?"

"Yeah. I think so." The N7 replied as she rounded the corner with her M-55 Argus out, Saren right behind her with his HMWAR VII Assault Rifle at the ready. He immediately saw what Hale had seen; up ahead, perhaps only fifteen meters away, were about a dozen Human bodies impaled on four meter tall spikes, their limbs dangling downward, obviously dead. It was beyond gruesome, and beyond reason; what purpose did it serve to do such a thing? Why not just kill them and have done with it? It would take less time than capturing them and impaling them. It would also infuriate the Humans, making them fight fiercer. Both Hale and himself stalked forward, their weapons trained and moving, looking for potential ambushers as Williams and Nihlus came from around the building next, moving to flanking positions. Meer came last, standing in the rear guard position. Not that Saren trusted the Human male to do his job right, but short of just gunning him down in cold blood, there was no other way he could see dealing with the man that wouldn't bite them in the _clochea_. They had moved north of the dig site after finding it empty, and thankfully the addition of the Human female Army Sergeant was a promising decision; she had instantly suggested the nearby docks as a potential location for the Beacon, being the place where someone would need to move the Beacon to take it to the Spaceport only ten kilometers away. It seemed as good a plan as any with their Omnitools and radios down. Unfortunately, they had to go through more devastation, in the form of impaled Human bodies. Hale grunted as she slapped her M-55 Argus upon her chest and pulled out her multi-heat sink automatic shotgun, a ruthless weapon known as the N7 Piranha. "Keep it frosty, folks. This is as good a place for an ambush or booby traps as any. Eyes peeled."

"Um, Colonel?" Williams pointed something out, and Saren looked to see one of the impaled bodies moving, something... wrong with its plates. The spike began to lower down, and much to his amazement, the body pulled itself off. "Oh, God... what did they do to them?" The Turian noted that the body, wearing standard Alliance Onyx Medium Interceptor Armor, was moving, a gaping hole through its chest as its skin-plates began to slough off... revealing charred and blackened flesh decorated with... lighted blue wiring? The SPECTRE couldn't believe what he was seeing as the body in armor moaned loudly... and came barreling straight for them.

"Saren! Lift it!" Hale shouted as the Biotic Turian did as she requested, throwing a Lift Orb at the running thing, causing it to soar without gravity. It came closer to them, giving them a better view of the altered Human being as it floated closer to them. "Drop it, Arterius." Saren deactivated the electrostatic charge in his amp and the thing bounced on the ground in front of the N7 Commander as she flipped it over with a boot and pressed the sole against its neck as the creature began beating against the armor of her leg, thrashing about underneath her. "Halsey, A. Sergeant First Class." The Marine called out, reading the armor's rank and name.

"That's Sergeant Halsey?" Williams gulped audibly, and her skin-plates looked almost... green. "He's the Platoon Sergeant for the 232, ma'am. He... looks like a zombie. With wires."

"Agreed." Hale looked to Williams, frowned for a moment, and then pulled out her N7 Eagle and proceeded to put a bullet in the thing's head. The thrashing stopped as most of its fringe was blown off by the gunshot. "Sorry you had to see that, Williams."

"I'd rather that than... be one of those robozombies." The Sergeant replied weakly, though she visibly swallowed whatever emotion she was feeling, returning herself into a soldier instead of an emotional wreck. That was good. "Guess we know why they're spiking people, turning them into these... husks."

"Then we'll need to take care of the others." Hale replied, looking up at the others who were still impaled. "Can't afford to have these husk-things running amuck, killing more people. Hate it, but I'd rather do it than think of them attacking innocent people or children."

"Agreed." Saren replied as he put his HMWAR VII Assault Rifle to his shoulder, sighting it on the closest victims head when Hale put her hand on the SPECTREs' rifle, lowering it slightly.

"It's our kind, Arterius." The N7 Commander spoke softly, meant for his ears alone. "I'm sure that a Turian would rather be given mercy from one of his own as oppose to being killed by a Human." Saren's mandibles flared at that, but then clamped back down almost immediately as he thought it out. The Marine had a point; he would rather be given mercy from a comrade. Besides, no one would benefit from seeing a Turian apparently executing Human beings. As a SPECTRE, he might be above the law save Counsel decree, but that didn't mean that public opinion didn't have an effect, too. He watched as the N7 Marine and the Army Sergeant hoist their respective shotguns up, and started shooting each of the impaled victims in the head. All looked to be converted into the same thing that Sergeant First Class Halsey had been, so at the very least, they weren't just shooting corpses or gunning down victims. It was as Hale suggested; the colony couldn't afford more tragedy and death.

It had already seen too much.

* * *

"Spirits, what are we looking at?"

Nihlus Kryik stood in front of what appeared to be twelve individuals that were laying on the ground, all apparently comatose. Saren Arterus watched as Commander Jennifer Hale bent down beside one of the Human bodies, taking off an armored gauntlet, and putting two of her dull talons on the side of the males' neck. She frowned for a moment as she then opened one of the man's eyes, clicking her fingers together to make a 'snapping' sound, and then gently flicked the man's eye. Nothing.

"They're alive, but..." Hale checked the female Turian laying next the male Human, this time placing her talons on the Turians' inner arm joint, where one could feel a pulse. "Twelve people of different species in a coma? I'd think chemical warfare, but not all Chemo-WMDs do the same thing to different species. What would kill a Human might only incapacitate a Salarian, or drive a Turian into brain damage. The same kind of effect? We're either looking at a weapon no one's ever seen before, or something we don't know about."

"Drugs? Like some narcotic or hallucinogenic?" Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams suggested hopefully, holding her Storm Shotgun with both hands. "Tranqs? Knock-out gas?"

"Same principle; different species, different results." Hale sighed, looking over to Saren, shaking her head. "This is important, I think. Twelve catatonic bodies while they're spiking Army and civilians? These people were different, somehow. Scientists and lab workers, at the very least. A few of them are wearing lab coats." The N7 sighed, wiping at her leaking... _sweating_ face with her bare hand. "Arterius, we're going to document this with a hardwire camera I got. This has some relevance to our mission. Can you scope ahead to the docks to see if the Beacon is still there? We'll meet up with you when we catch up in a few minutes."

"I shall do so." The SPECTRE replied as he ambled away from the temporary camp where they had found the bodies in a line. Hale had a point; that was something completely different, and part of why SPECTREs existed. Perhaps someone knew something, but none of them looked tortured, or even harmed. Seeing the bodies lying there peacefully while everything else was killed was worth following up on. It was clues like that that would help lead a Counsel Agent to the mastermind of such nefarious acts. A day Saren prayed to the Spirits would come swift and violent.

He moved stealthily the last half-a-kilometer towards the docks; a warehouse-like building with a large platform where crates and pallets waited to be moved onto a tram that was connected to the dock. Saren flittered from concealed position to concealed position, ready to throw up a Barrier at a moments' notice while holding his HMWSM VII close to his chest. He didn't meet up with any resistance as he approached the docks, which was good; if the Beacon had been there, it would undoubtedly be heavily defended, and he didn't count his chances as good against serious opposition. These Geth warframes were quite adaptive and hearty. He approached the docks from a blind spot, unable to see the platform, but at least remaining hidden from view as he found a pair of staircases that would lead him up to the docks' platform. He took careful steps upward as so he could check the situation without exposing himself too much, keen on getting the drop on anything that might be hostile.

There was a lone figure on the platform.

Saren took to cover behind an aluministeel cargo container, switching out his HMWSM VII Submachine gun for his Specter Gear Assault Rifle, readying it silently by extending it into combat configuration manually instead of the activation button, which did make noise. Weapon ready, Saren timed himself moving forward by breathing deep, readying his Biotics, and leaping out from cover.

"Counsel Agent, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance! Turn around where I can see you!" Saren shouted at the figure, a Human being in what appeared to be Onyx Heavy Interceptor Armor. The figure, their back to him, slowly raised their arms up, and Saren was shocked to see a blood-red stripe bordered with silver running vertically down the right arm of the armor. That... that was the mark of an N7! "Nice and slow, Human."

The figure turned around, and Saren was shocked to see the identity of whom the figure was.

He had, of course, seen a few pictures of her; anyone who had ever visited the Human-populated portions of the Wards or their administrative areas in the Presidium had seen posters and vids of her. In fact, he had seen a poster of her recently, hanging up in Commander Hale's room, a piece of Alliance propaganda after the Assault on Elysium. Missing for four years, and all of the sudden _she_ turns up, in the middle of a Geth invasion, on Eden Prime?

"Commander Shepard?" Saren asked, seeing the red hair-fringe that was a unique color to Humanity, rare even among their kind, as well as the face that was once considered the epitome of Human courage. Hale had been looking for her adopted clan-sister for almost four years, and now here she was, but half-a-kilometer from what Hale sought most. The soon-to-be SPECTRE would be pleased to be reunited with her estranged clan-sister.

"SPECTRE." The Lion of Elysium replied, her tone neutral as her arms slowly went downward at the same time Saren lowered his Specter Gear Assault Rifle.

"What are you doing here? After all this time?" The Turian asked, his eyes moving as he scanned around the dock, looking for signs of movement. The dock was an excellent place for an ambush and a holdout.

"Thought we could use some help." The Human Naval Commander replied, her horizontal mandibles going into an easy smile as she looked at him with eerie-blue eyes. Not that he paid attention to Human eye color, but he didn't remember the Lion of Elysium having such distinctive eye coloring before. Perhaps the Alliance Propeganda toned it down to make her more appealing. It sounded like what Humans would do.

"This is bad, the Geth outside the Veil." A sound from further back in the docks had Saren's eyes zero in towards the source, a set of crates about five meters away. It had been a singular sound, and hadn't been the electronic, mechanical whirl of Geth, at least. Still, he kept his eyes towards that area for a few more seconds before returning his attention to Commander Jane Shepard. He was shocked to find that as he looked at her, she had drawn what appeared to be an N7 Eagle, shoving the barrel of the high-powered Special Operations pistol in between his mandibles and in his mouth, his eyes opening wide in disbelief.

"Don't worry, SPECTRE. Everything's going according to plan."

* * *

A/N: Nobody panics when everything is going to plan, even if the plan is horrifying?

Hale now holds two ranks, a Commander of the Navy, and a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines. To Nihlus and the Marines, she is a short-bird, while to Saren and the Navy, she is a Commander. I know this is a little confusing.

I'm sure that you've notice that while in Saren's POV, everything is described Turians; lips are 'horizontal mandibles', hair is 'fur, moving fringes, floppy crests', skin is 'soft-plates', noses are 'snouts', etc. We all use these things to better describe what we don't know, or to align them to our own thought processes.

For those who know little about armor pieces, a pauldron is a shoulder guard. Greaves are shin guards. Bracers are for your forearms, while vambraces are for your upper arms. A gorget is the neck protector. Chestplate and breastplate is for the torso. Codpiece is for... well, the groin area.

I did say I was flipping the script, right? Nihlus is still alive, and Saren just suck-started an Eagle? Tune in later for more thrilling adventures as we move on to the _asshat's_ point of view :p

Some quick expos...

I've come to call the Geth 'Warforms' and 'warframes', which I will explain better later, but basically a warform is an all-purpose drone/droid, like the trooper or the LOKI mech. A warframe, on the other hand, is a war-specific platform, like the Destroyer, Primes, and the Atlas Mech. Geth configurations will be detailed in a few chapters.

How did Ash know that they were Geth in the first place? Ok, three fingered hands, two-toed feet, and a Maglight face might be Quarian manufacture, but considering most everyone was three-fingered (only the Asari, Humans, Drell, and Batarians were five fingered), that left a few options for mech drones. I wanted to imply the intelligence part, which really wasn't seen much when you were busy playing 'wack-a-Geth' with the drones at first.

The Dragon's Teeth were pretty diabolical, weren't they? But the exchange rate is pretty bad. Sovereign landed some seventeen minutes out before the Normandy arrived, and probably fifteen minutes into the mission is when you start encountering Husks. Ok, the emergency beacon probably had a light lag of a few minutes, but still... 30 minutes from Marine to robozombie? I might come up with a reason for that.

I lobotomized aliens. It's revenge for all those strange tests the movies keep claiming.

I had to figure a way to get _someone_ shot by BadShep. Sadly, we weren't lucky enough that Meer didn't catch a bullet in the face. At least Shep didn't _talk_ Saren to death.


	24. Meer: Eden Prime

**Meer: Eden Prime**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 22: Meer, Eden Prime I

Constant, Eden Prime, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183, 1204 Zulu

The sound of a gunshot had brought all of their attention away from the bodies.

"That was an Eagle." The cunt announced, her voice worried as she looked up from the catatonic blue dyke whore she was investigating as Commander Mark Meer stood a few meters away, ignoring the plight of the unconscious victims on the ground. Like he gave a shit what happened to some spikes, noodleheads, and geckos. Seeing the bodies of human beings shot and burnt even since they had landed on Eden Prime had been disturbing, and the smell nauseating. He wasn't a Ground Commander, some fucking Jarhead to run around, answering every problem with bullets and explosions. He was a Navy man; he commanded men. He was more use to riding in a shuttle, giving tactical decisions from the air, directing forces as he saw fit while targeting enemy fortifications with precision strikes from aircraft and spacecraft. Leave the grunt work to the grunts, he always thought, while using his superior intellect to direct the battle to the Alliance's favor. He was too smart and useful to be running around in the dirt, exposing himself to gunfire and mayhem.

The cunt, damn her, had shanghaied him into a fucking massacre.

"You can tell?" That was the Army slut, Staff Sergeant Williams, her voice unsure as she looked into the direction of the lone gunshot that came from not too far off. Why the hell would a woman need to wear _pink_ armor, anyhow? It looked to be Phoenix Carrier Assembly, Medium Armor, manufactured by the Sirta Foundation. It came in different colors, the Naval Lieutenant Commander knew for a fact. What, was it suppose to highlight the fact that she had tits stamped into her breastplate in case anyone missed the rounded bulges? A slut, Meer decided.

"Yes." The cunt replied, her tone brooking no argument as she finished photographing and video taping the blue dyke whore on the ground. "I think we're good here. We better find Saren. Lone Turian on a human colony isn't a great combination." Meer held back a snort. Who cared if a spike got skull-popped? He hoped that the Biotic alien had gone down with a shot; would make his life easier without having the tall-ass spike staring at him all times of the day, it seemed. Now if something would only happen to his partner... "Let's move out, people. Meer? Rear guard."

 _Of course_ , Meer sneered internally.

He knew what was happening, of course; the cunt was going to take all the credit for the actions taken on Eden Prime! First responder, sending the Marines to gather what forces to fight back and save civilians, recovering this Prothean Beacon object... cunt was going to glory hound every accolade and honor in the attempt to save the backwater colony of Eden Prime! She didn't even have to be successful, armed only with a platoon of Marines and a pair of spikes; no one would expect her to pull a victory out of such a disaster. Even her bitch of a sister had commanded a force of two battalions on Elysium against some ten thousand pirates and slavers. Cunt was going to be lauded for her actions, probably get the Star of Terra for this.

And there wasn't a Goddamn thing he could do about it.

Dreams of his ascension in the Alliance ranks were quickly evaporating in Meer's mind as the Commander silently followed SPECTRE Nihlus Kryik down into a gully that lead towards the docks that the slut seemed to know about, the same direction that Saren Arterius had gone in. He held his M-15 Vindicator, 3rd-Gen Assault Rifle at the ready, his Omnigel-Armor Plating still coating his Oynx Interceptor Armor (Light), adding extra protection on top of his Electromagnetic Defense field and Molecular Ionization Defense shields, not to mention the standard Ballistic Ablative Coating on his Aldrin Labs armor. Despite all of this, Commander Mark Meer knew that a precise shot with a high-powered weapon would go through such defenses in a shot or two, as the slut found out after being shot by the Geth. Rear guard didn't bother him; let the spike, cunt, and slut get shot first! What the cunt was doing, he could easily do as well if something 'unfortunate' happened to them! Single-handedly recovering this Prothean Beacon and handing it over to the Alliance would garner him a great deal of notoriety and support. 'Hero of Akuze' would be a forgotten byline as the media frantically searched for a more impressive name for him and Eden Prime. Pity that old ass cougar already had the name 'Typhoon of Eden Prime'; even Meer admitted that it was a pretty damn good name to carry. He wouldn't have to save this worthless colony or its equally worthless colonists! Down radios meant he wouldn't have to lead the Marines, or rescue them from whatever disaster they had found themselves in. If they all got killed... he could easily blame that on the cunt! He could also lay some of the blame on that pretty boy Alenko as well, though perhaps he would have a few kind words for the Biotic Lieutenant with that ridiculous pompadour. A little gratitude would go over well with the press and the people, after all.

The Spider waited in his web, and boded his time.

"What... the fuck... is that?" The cunt whispered in a harsh voice as she went to cover, seeing something that had her cursing as she took refuge behind a cargo box that looked to have been blasted away, landing out in the gully haphazardly. The slut and the spike went right beside her as they both peered over the box and looked at whatever it was the Marine had seen. Meer took a knee behind a fair-sized rock, hoping that some Geth fired an explosive round at the cargo box. _Wipe them out all at once, is that so much... to... oh... shit..._

Meer looked at what the cunt had seen, and couldn't believe his eyes.

"Look at the size of that thing!" The spike exclaimed fiercely as they all looked at a towering structure that had been hidden by the rise of land, now observable from behind the hills as the cunt led them towards the mouth of the gully, opening up their line of vision to a large view of Eden Prime's valley below. The structure was unlike anything that Meer had ever seen; it certainly wasn't a skyscraper... no skyscraper was that tall, that thick, or that... shape. The Commander had a hard time looking at the object in question, the shape of it somehow... wrong. It looked to him like some sea creature gone wrong, half of the thing looking like a mollusk shell, while the front reminded him slightly of a hermit crab or a cuttlefish. Yet the thing was enormous, easily Dreadnought-sized... possibly even bigger. _And the Goddamn thing had landed on the planet!_ Meer couldn't believe what he was seeing, the structure standing vertically as oppose to landing horizontally. That it was a ship was without question. How it got there, though?

It blared a brass note that drove Commander Mark Meer to the ground in pain.

The note was pain and death rolled together in one, the sound of it louder than any noise he had ever heard in his life. It feel like a thousand klaxon alarms ringing in his head at the same time, and his skull shook in his head as if it had been put inside a cathedral bell when it was rung. The note blared for a good five seconds, but the effects lasted much longer as Meer slowly got off the ground, trying to shake away the blurry vision and dizziness he felt. The front of his face was wet, and he wiped at his nose for his hand to come back bloody, as if he had broken it. He looked up, seeing the cunt staggering back on her feet, bleeding from her nose and ears, looking confused for a moment as she held her Argus in quaking hands, unable to stop shaking. The slut was next as she rolled up slowly, groaning in pain as she held her head, as if she had a migraine, and the spike coughed a few times, leaking blue blood from in between his mandibles as he got onto his feet as well.

"What... what the fuck was that?" The cunt huffed out, trying to catch her breath, her tone pained as she leaned against the rock she had been using for cover before, obviously still suffering. "Sonic weaponry?"

"Makes... sense." The spike replied, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Never heard... of sonic weaponry... but it makes sense." The slut bent over and puked her guts out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, getting vomit and blood on it, which she wiped on the ground as the cunt checked her over, getting a weak nod from the pink-and-white armored slut. Meer shook his head to get the pulsing headache that seemed to be vibrating through his entire skull, his vision slowly returning to normal as the thrum of engines igniting brought their attention to the strange Dreadnought. All four of them looked as smoke and fire blasted in the distance as the ship began to rise from the ground at a speed that was alarming, rocketing into the sky faster than a Suborbital Catapult. The vessel seemed to leave Eden Primes' atmosphere within a minute, leaving all four of the stunned at what they saw.

"Mother... fucker..." The slut whispered harshly, spitting out bile from her mouth. "That ship... that was the same one... that killed half of my platoon. Burned them alive... screaming..." She went silent, and her eyes went to him, dark and disturbed. "You're the Hero of Akuze, aren't you?" Meer was surprised by the recognition; he hadn't introduced himself, the slut hadn't really looked at him once, and the helmet with the tinted half-visor that covered everything above his nostrils meant she wouldn't recognize him by sight. "How the hell did you deal with it? Losing your whole platoon?" Meer found himself opening his mouth... and unable to come up with the answer. He had been asked that question a dozen times in the past four years, and he had always answered the same way with the same bullshit answer. But this time, the answer didn't come out. He stalled. That had never happened before, and he stood there silently for about five seconds or so.

"You never get over it, not really." The cunt finally answered after the long pause when it was obvious Meer wasn't going to talk. Her tone was surprisingly... gentle. "While I never lost my whole platoon, I've lost more men on Torfan than anyone else has since Shanxi. Every one of them wanted to be a part of it, to serve under my command, to follow me to victory. All I led them to was death and carnage." She shook her head, as if to toss the memory. The slut nodded slowly at the explanation, and with a short order the cunt told her and the spike to move ahead while she stood in spot, looking at him.

"Sorry about that." Meer was surprised to see that the cunt was talking to him; not ordering him or bossing him around. "I didn't think about this being a comparison to Akuze, with the way people were killed. You've been silent the whole time, just..." Much to his shock, he watched as the cunt take off her helmet in the middle of a combat zone, wiping away the sweat off her brow, her hair soaked and matted. "No one likes being reminded of the shit they survived. I'll let Williams know not to bring it up again with you, if you'd prefer."

"I'd... appreciate it." The Commander finally replied, finding himself at a loss. The cunt... was being nice with him, to him. She thought that he was silent because he was working out some emotional turmoil from Akuze? If the cunt only knew... "Let's just get this mission over and done with."

"Yeah. I heard that."

* * *

They reached the docks to find it occupied by a Turian laying in a pool of his own blue blood.

"Fuck! Saren!" Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale cursed as she bounded towards the body of Saren Arterius, immediately kneeling beside the Counsel Agent as she inspected the SPECTRE quickly, and then looked up to Nihlus Kryik. "Dextro Medigel and some gauze! He's been shot through the mouth, not the head!"

"Spirits!" The SPECTRE replied as Commander Mark Meer watched the spike pulled out a tube of blue Medigel, meant for dextro-chilary beings, tossing it to the Marine as the Commander only watched with semi-interest. Why the hell would he involve himself with trying to save an alien's life? He had assumed that the Biotic Turian had caught a bullet to the brain pan, but now that he looked a little better, it seemed that there was a bullet wound coming out from one of the cheek plates, just behind the right mandible of Saren Arterius. Damn... not that he gave a shit about the Turians, but that had to hurt something fierce. The hole was big enough for him to stick his thumb through without touching the sides. The cunt worked her magic by spreading some blue Medigel onto her forefinger and liberally applying it to the site of the wound before taking some gauze and placing it on the gunshot wound. The gauze's self-adhesive application had it sticking to the spike's plates, sealing the wound from bacteria and debris. _Well, it's not like a Turian can get any uglier_ , Meer thought with a sneer.

A sound to their right had the cunt pulling out her Eagle as the slut and spike aimed their respective rifles at the sound.

"Stand up where I can see you!" The N7 Marine called out, holding her pistol one-handed while plucking a grenade from her belt, Meer noticed. He had his Vindicator in his hands, aiming in the general direction, unsure where the noise had come from, except that there was about a dozen or so shipping crates in the way, blocking the view. A pair of human hands popped up as a balding man around forty years of age stood up slowly, obviously quaking.

"P-p-please don't shoot! I'm unarmed!" The man cried out, his dungarees and utility shirt marking him as a worker, probably for the very dock he was using as a hiding spot. "M-my name is Powell! I'm just a dock worker! You don't have to shoot me, too! Not like the other woman!"

"What 'other woman'?" The cunt asked, her voice hard, her pistol still trained at the man. Meer relaxed slightly, seeing that the man was obviously not a threat.

"Th-th-the other Marine! At least, I think she was a Marine!" Powell replied, his voice still shaking in fear. "She was the one that shot the Turian! Especially after he identified himself as a SPECTRE! I heard the whole thing!"

"Fuck." The _Normandy's_ XO exclaimed, her face soured as she exchanged a look with the spike, who didn't look amused at the thought of a human shooting his partner. "Saren identified himself as a Counsel Agent, and she still shot him? Who was she?"

"I... I don't know! Honest!" The dockworker replied, frightened out of his wits as he looked at the seven-foot tall Turian that stood next to the cunt, armed with a Specter Gear Assault Rilfe, shaking visibly. "She had a helmet on! But her armor looked like yours! It had the same mark on her right arm!" Meer looked over to the cunt, seeing the blood-red mark that ran vertically down her pauldron, vanbrace, and bracer of her armor, bordered by silver. It was distinctive, and only those who had graduated all seven courses of N school were allowed to wear it on their armor, as well as the coveted badge of 'N7'.

"Bullshit! There are seven women in all of the Alliance that passed the entirety of the Villa, and I personally know every single one of them." The cunt answered back, visibly annoyed. "None of them are even in the Exodus Cluster, much less the Utopia System. Fucking lie to me again!"

"I swear! She even had the same pistol as you! Except that hers was black, not silver."

"That's... not... fucking... _possible!_ " The cunt shouted, seething with anger. "Go on, get the fuck out of here before I lose my patience!" Powell didn't have to be told twice as he hopped over a crate and ran off the dock platform, running as if the devil were nipping at his heels. Meer watched as the man sped off in the direction they came from. At the least they had cleared the area of Geth and those horrible converted things on the spikes.

"Jen, what's wrong?" The spike asked, looking to the N7, who had holstered her Eagle, returning her attention to the Turian on the ground, who was still out.

"I wasn't lying when I said there were only seven women to make it beyond the N3 course." The cunt replied, her voice hard. "Senior Chief Stacy Valentino, Staff Sergeant Jeanette Vasquez, Lieutenant Commander Miranda Lawson, Gunnery Sergeant Ophelia duPris, and 1st Lieutenant Lee Riley."

"Counting you, that's six." The slut responded, obviously keeping count. "Who's the last one?"

"Not the last one; the first one." The Marine's voice almost dropped to a whisper as she looked to the spike on the ground, the one that was still standing, the slut, and then to him. "We all know who she is. The Lion of Elysium."

"Commander Shepard? I thought she was dead?" The slut opened her mouth once more, spilling out her stupidity for all to hear. She looked to the spike and the cunt, and saw just how far behind she was on things that were going on. "Well. What's she doing on Eden Prime, then? I thought you said there was no one else in the system but your ship."

"Yeah, us... and the Geth."

* * *

Commander Mark Meer waited as the spike Nihlus Kryik injected his partner's neck with something from an auto-injector, bringing the SPECTRE back to consciousness as both the cunt and the spike helped the Biotic up to his feet while the slut kept a perimeter guard, holding her M-96 Mattock at the ready. Meer kept his eyes moving as well as he took cover behind a crate on the dock, his M-15 Vindicator pointing at the ground as oppose to an avenue of approach, like the Army slut was doing. The spike was groaning in pain as he put his hand against his wounded face, blue stains running down his mandible and neck from where he had bled.

"Hale. Shepard. She's _here_." The spike croaked, his flanged voice ruined as he tried to talk out of a wounded mouth. Well, no one in the galaxy was under the impression that spikes were smart.

"I know. She shot you." The cunt replied, her tone defeated as Meer looked over, seeing her checking on the spike's face. Guess she won't be schmoozing up to him anytime soon, he thought nastily. "We found a witness. I was hoping he was lying." The cunt shook her head, shaking off whatever she was thinking. "Beacon isn't here, Saren. Looks like there's a Tram that leads away from here. About the only thing that isn't on fire. My guess is that the Beacon was loaded onto that and moved to its next destination."

"We go." The Biotic spike replied, keeping his words short, pulling out his HMWAR VII Assault Rifle and shouldering it.

"You going to make it?" The cunt asked, looking at the Biotic SPECTRE, a look of concern on her face. _Fucking knew it! Cunt is shaking her ass for the spikes!_ The Turian nodded once, touching at the bandage on his face, and then returning his hand to the Assault Rifle. "Alright, let's move out, people! Be on your guard. We start seeing lots of Geth, chances are we're close to the Beacon. Be prepared to fight." The five of them moved from the dock to the Tram that was next to the platform, and Nihlus accessed its computer, looking at its last destination.

"Spaceport. Twenty minutes ago." The spike told all of them as everyone got onto the Tram, the SPECTRE keying the Tram to head towards the Spaceport. Meer stood in the back of the Tram as the train-like vehicle began to move forward, running on its MagLev track towards its destination. The slut was standing towards the left side of the Tram, her weapon at the ready, while the Biotic spike sat on one of the seats, unable to stand on the moving car as it picked up speed, wind rushing by them as it vibrated and thumped every few seconds or so. Nihlus and the cunt were at the front, talking low to one another, low enough that he couldn't hear. Probably telling the spike that she was now a one-Turian ride, Meer snorted. The ride ended up being about five minutes long, and when the Tram pulled into the Spaceport, and the Hero of Akuze looked at the upcoming platform as Hale gave off a warning shout.

The damn thing was crawling with Geth warforms and warframes.

* * *

A/N: Staff Sergeant Williams is now 'the slut' in Meer's mind. Spikes are Turians, noodleheads are Asari, and geckos are Salarians. I'll come up with more racist alien terms later. Damn jellyfish.

The Reaper Horn (BWUM!) is a sonic weapon, meant to disrupt communications, act like an EMP against electronics, and induce pain and disorientation against organics. Considering how powerful a Sovereign-Class Reaper is, they definitely have the power for it. Sonic weaponry does in fact exist, though it is of limited use. But hey, when you've got a few million years of spare time on your hands, you will invent some freaky shit.

Powell, by the way, is a fucking liar. You already knew this, though.

Lieutenant Commander Miranda Lawson? Yes, _that_ Miranda Lawson. Lee Riley is an N7 that you see in ME3 in the N7: Factory Is Fucked Up mission. Stacy Valentino is an old OC of mine, while Ophelia duPris is one I made up on the spot. Jeanette Vasquez will be familiar to anyone who as seen the movie _Aliens_ or read my Mass Effect vs. Aliens stories; _Siege of Hadley's Hope_ and _Valkyrie Rising_. Yes, I'm using her. Again.

Never understood why, as a defense, how Shepard couldn't get someone to explain that if there was an eyewitness for Saren on Eden Prime, couldn't anyone ask him to, y'know, provide an alibi? Of course, the game made it sound like he was just traveling willy-nilly in Sovereign's guts and setting up a resort on Virmire after petting Rachni puppies. Where did he find the time?


	25. Maldonaldo: Siege

**Maldonaldo: Siege**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 23: Maldonaldo, Siege

Constant, Eden Prime, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183, 1232 Zulu

"C'mon, motherfuckers! Who wants to live forever?"

Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo shouted over the din of gunfire and battle as she took aim with her M-96 Mattock and proceeded to shoot a Geth warform in the chest, blasting a hole right where a human heart would be. Sadly, it wasn't as lethal a tactic as it was with an organic, so she shot it in the middle of the chest, punching another thumb-sized hole into the Geth chassis. Four shots later, she had finally punched through enough circuitry and processors to put the warform to the ground, activating whatever blue screen of death Geth went to when they died. Slinging her Mattock upon her chest, the Typhoon of Eden Prime went back to the defensive turret that she had been manning on top of the municipal building that her platoon of Marines had been holding onto near the main thoroughway of Constant, disrupting Geth operations as best they could. The turret she was stationed at was a Benson-Rothchild 75g autoloader, firing some six hundred rounds per minute at 1.2% the speed of light. A great defensive turret... if one only were firing at five or so baddies. The problem with the BR turret was that it overheated within six seconds of constant firing, and suppression firing only got you perhaps ten seconds, with half-a-minute cooldown. Still, it proved useful against massed mobs of Geth warforms and warframes, though it was a bit overkill for those mutated zombie fuckers that kept coming in waves.

The Typhoon pulled the duel triggers on the double-barreled turret, aiming at a Geth defensive position, and whooped as seventy-five gram rounds spitting out at ten shots a second began to slam into the AI fuckers.

The BR turret decimated the Geth line, warforms and warframes bursting into pieces from the onslaught of death raining down from the roof of the municipal building as the Marine Master Sergeant laughed maniacally, watching as the AI soldiers were violently blown to pieces by her suppressing fire. She took special attention to the big ones, eight-foot monstrosities that seemed to take a lickin' and keep on tickin'. They didn't survive her wrath as she mowed them down, some trying to dodge her rounds as others were scrapped in less than a second. The area was quickly turned into a cloud of dust as each round impacted with an explosion the equivalent of ten sticks of dynamite, ten of them a second causing quite a bit of pressure changes and vibration shocks. She didn't even necessarily need to get in a direct hit; the concussive force of the impacting round were enough to shake a Geth to pieces as far as two meters away from the impact point.

She had been doing this for a good half-an-hour.

"LT! Get some men on that barricade on the north end!" Maldonaldo called out as her turret overheated, having fired sixty shots in six seconds, plowing through a large contingent of Geth reinforcements that were moving in on the Marines' position. The north barricade was a hasty position created in mere minutes with Aircars and dumpsters pushed into the road to create choke points, cover, and a final protective line if needed be, manned by a few teams of the Eden Prime Colonial Army that the _Normandy's_ Marines had run into. The 222 platoon, known as 'Triple-Deuce', had perhaps half of their men alive when Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko discovered several M-96 Mattocks pointing out of widows from an improvised bunker that was once a building. They had holed up with surviving civilians and what remaining militia members and law enforcement officers they could find, perhaps equaling fifty armed soldiers and cops, and another one hundred civilians. Alenko, bless his heart, had come up with a good idea; to take refuge in an Alliance Government Building, which were usually built of much better quality than standard colonial design, as well as fortified with defensive measures. The municipal building had been designated by the highest-ranking person left in the 222 (sadly, a freshly-promoted Sergeant way in over his head and knew it) and had happily giving the reins of command to the Master Sergeant and Biotic Lieutenant. The municipal building had been armed with four Benson-Rothchild defensive turrets, one on each corner of the roof, and that alone made the trip worthwhile. Small searches into nearby buildings had garnered them more militiamen and police officers (as well as civilian yahoos who picked up Mattocks and Lancers from fallen Soldiers), and their civilian population had exploded into the thousand range, with perhaps two hundred defenders.

Two make-shift Infantry Companies against the fury of the Geth Invasion Forces numbering... who knew.

" _Top! We got some more of those Geth Jumpers on the north end!"_ Came Alenko's voice over their radio, one of the civilians actually making themselves useful by hardwiring a transmitter/receiver directly into the principle buildings' back-up power supply, providing more wattage than the Geth signal interrupter. Unfortunately, they only had a broadcast range of about half a kilometer. Still, it was better than trying to shout from the top of a three story building in the middle of a war.

"Goddamn those little fast fuckers." The Typhoon swore as she picked up her Mattock and started laying fire towards the eastern end of their defensive position, where the main part of Constant faced. That had been where a majority of the forces had come from, right down the road. There were more than a few pieces of Geth soldiers and their armored vehicles smoldering on the track from where she had laid waste to the machine race. "Lieutenant Parkerson! Get your sharpshooter team on the north side of the building and take out those little jumping fuckers." Lieutenant Parkerson was in charge of a five member SWAT team of the Eden Prime Police Division. They had all come to their position after hearing their transmissions, armed with ERCS Hammer sniper rifles. Five trained snipers working in concert made for a hell of a precision strike against ground forces.

 _"Those jumpers aren't faster than bullets."_ The SWAT team leader commented as a volley of high-powered precision fire rang out, almost sounding as if one shot instead of five. Maldonaldo had already seen their effectiveness; five targets dropped like the Gods had cut their strings, and the SWAT team didn't waste their time with the Geth Peons, as they were calling the regular man-sized troopers. Normally they went for the Flamers and Cloakers, the ones that really fucked with their defensive positions.

Only the eight-foot ones were giving them problems, the ones someone had coined 'Metal Gears' after some video game about a walking battle tank.

"Lancey! Give me some more fire support towards the north end! Jumpers soften a target for a push!" The Typhoon shouted to Lance Corporal James Frederickson, on the northeast turret. They had been alternating who fired their BR turret so both guns wouldn't be overheated at the same time. Impossible of course, with a six second fire to thirty second cooldown rate, but it was better to have back-up than to wait a full thirty seconds during a firefight; a lifetime of waiting in combat. "Jenkins! Send some more militiamen to the east side, third floor windows for suppression to cover for Frederickson." She didn't even wait for an acknowledgement as she laid out more orders as she saw more glints of sun-on-metal and the telltale flashlight faces of the Geth.

"Hale, wherever the fuck you are," the Typhoon charged her BR turret into readiness as she saw another Mobile Creeper coming down the thoroughway from Constant, the four-legged spider bastard from hell already charging its main gun; some sort of plasma caster that fucked everything up, "get your pretty little doohicky back here pronto before we find ourselves all fucking dead." Turret ready, Maldonaldo re-earned her nickname once more as the Typhoon of Eden Prime let off a warcry that would have impressed the Vikings of old as she aimed at the Mobile Creeper with her BR turret and mashed both triggers once more, sending death.

* * *

A/N: "C'mon, you apes! Who wants to live forever?" A quote often attributed to Marine Corps Sergeant Daniel Daly in the trenches of France during World War I of the Battle of Belleau Wood, before scaling the trench and crossing the No Man's Land in a push against the Imperial Germans (this is also the same battle that 'Retreat? Hell, we just got here' contributed to Captain Lloyd Williams of the 2nd of the 5th Marines, giving their motto 'Retreat? Hell!'). Doughboys had some fucking balls on them, charging machine gun nests through mazes of barb wire, artillery craters, and carpeting of corpses. Sergeant Major Daly was one of nineteen people double-awarded the Medal of Honor, and one of two to get it from two separate occasions. Described as the 'Fightin'est Marine I ever knew!' by Major General Butler, another double-MOH awardee.

Triple-Deuce - An homage to the 2nd Battalion, 22nd Infantry of the 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division. It just so happened to be in between 212 and 232, the two acknowledged Infantry platoons on Eden Prime.

The game conveniently names the Geth troops via the HUD; Hopper, Trooper, Hunter, Destroyer... I changed those for this chapter alone as the soldiers don't have a convenient healthbar and naming HUD. Troopers are Peons, Hoppers are Jumpers, Pyros are Flamers, Hunters are Cloakers, Destroyers are Jaegers, and Primes are Metal Gears. Mobile Creeper is the Armature. I fucking hate that thing in ME 1.

This chapter somewhat shows what's going on for Eden Prime _sans_ the Prothean Beacon Team; pretty sure the Geth were shooting at everything. Constant, btw, is the canon capital for Eden Prime, and I assume by the skyline in the first game that you land close by it. There were cops and firefighters and other people in Eden Prime when the Geth attacked. Where did all those husks come from, you think. I wanted to spotlight a little bit of it, as this will be featured later as the Miracle of Eden Prime.


	26. Hale: Eden Prime II

**Hale: Eden Prime II**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 24: Hale, Eden Prime II

Constant, Eden Prime, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183 1332 Constant Time Zone

"SCATTER!"

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale didn't waste time following her own advise as she leapt from the slowly-moving Tram that had almost debarked at the Spaceport of Constant, Eden Prime, the platform swarming with Geth warforms and warframes. The N7 Marine jumped from the Tram to the platform, finding a steel directory to hide behind for a moment before finding more available cover, what appeared to be a series of dispensary machines offering snacks and sodas. Hale performed a ninja barrel roll, rolling onto her right shoulder and coming out on her feet tucked as small as she could be, seeing that she'd need to do another roll. She finally arrived at her destination, tucked behind six foot tall soda machines that were made of reinforced alumnisteel, the rounds of the Geth punching into the metal soda vessel, but thankfully not _through_ it. Hale stood up, putting her back toward her cover and the Geth as she switched her M-55 Argus for her Typhoon Light Machine Gun, wincing as she felt a sharp pinch at her side. Funny, she hadn't been running enough to get winded...

Hale looked down... oh, she had been shot. _When the fuck did that happen?_ Between the adrenaline and the aggressive maneuvering, she probably hadn't even felt it at the time. _Shit went right through my Electromagnetic Defense field and my Molecular Ionization Defense barrier! Hell, punched right through my Heavy Armor with its Ablative Paint, too!_ A hand went to her back, and she found an exit hole, thankfully about the size of her pinkie, near her kidney. Now that her brain had caught up with reality, she could _definitely_ feel the gunshot wound, and it hurt like a motherfucker. Well, wasn't the first time she had been shot. Rounds were still impacting her position, and it was only a matter of time before the Geth got smart enough to flank her. Hale found Saren Arterius and Staff Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams in their own defensive positions, crouched behind an alumnisteel wall, and then she found Nihlus Kryik a moment later, ducking behind a low crate. She didn't find Commander Mark Meer, and when she got Ash's attention, Hale mimicked pointing at her eyes and then holding up the number five with her left hand; look for their fifth man. Williams shook her head and pointed at a particular direction.

Hale found herself looking _away_ from the Spaceport, to a nearby field of Eden Prime, where she could see a fleeing form... running away.

"I swear to God if that motherfucker doesn't come back with a tank or a gunship, I'm shooting him in the fucking head _myself_ for cowardice and desertion!" Hale screamed as she plucked a grenade from her belt and did her best to throw it as far out as she could from behind a six-foot soda machine. She wasn't exactly sure where the Geth were precisely positioned, but she was hoping that the grenade might throw them off for a second or two. The anti-personnel disk grenade went off with a 'WHOMP!' and Hale risked poking out her head for a quick battlefield assessment... and felt a round ricochet right off the front plate of her helmet. "FUCK!" The N7 swore, her vision swimming with uninvented colors for a few seconds as she slammed back behind her cover, her head feeling like someone smacked her with a gong.

"Jen?" Nihlus called out, worried.

"Fine. Fucking shot in the head is all. Bloody perfect." Hale opened her eyes, but her vision was still blurry, and it wasn't getting better fast enough. "Williams? You trained at grenadier?"

"Yes, ma'am." The Staff Sergeant replied, and the Marine pulled out her ERCS M-100 Anti-Riot Grenade Launcher and slid it over towards the Soldier. "Oh _fuck_ yes!" All Hale could see was a pink-and-white blob hoisting something big and grey in her hands.

"Make 'em count, Williams!" Hale shouted, readying her N7 Typhoon. "Switch to air burst, fifteen meters, fragmentation." A moment later, Williams chirped that she had done so. "From your position, only stick the barrel above your cover as close as zero degree plane vertical as you can without exposing yourself. You're going to fire twenty degrees to your left, zero straight, and thirty-five degrees right. Then we pop out and start hosing _everything_!" There was a whoop from Ash. "And Nihlus, I need you to clear secondary survivors, because I can't fucking see straight right now."

"Understood, Colonel." The SPECTRE replied, a bluish blob with a brown top mixed with white replied from her left.

"Good. On three, Williams." The N7 announced, cocking her Typhoon ready and putting a few rounds into the air, hoping the Geth would look towards her. She pulled the trigger again, letting out a couple more rounds. Then she squeezed it one more time, the ancient sign of distress from back during a time when guns were black powder; three shots in the air meant there was trouble, to send aid. She didn't want to count out loud just in case the Geth understood their words (Who knew? They were machines!) but she knew Williams would get it. After the third pull of the trigger, Hale heard the distinctive 'pop' of the Elanus Risk Control System Anti-Riot Grenade Launcher, a multi-purpose weapon that she had converted into a killing tool. The grenades fired, and after fifteen meters, detonated in the air, showering everything within a five meter area with shrapnel as the Army Staff Sergeant shot three times quickly.

Lieutenant Colonel Hale rounded the soda machine and started firing her N7 Typhoon Light Machine Gun at the only things she could see for certain; flashlights. Her vision failed her completely with the Machine Gun's muzzle flash, drowning out her blurry vision with flashes of light as she continued to hold down the trigger, sweeping the Machine Gun from side to side in a tight arc, trusting the others to hit where she wasn't firing at. She didn't doubt that the Turians fully understood overlapping fields of fire, as well as individual sectors of fire. The Typhoon roared in her hand as the first five round pumped out slowly before its cyclic rate jumped up drastically, spitting out rounds at a rate of 650 per minute, filling its oversized heat sink quickly as she went through the usual one hundred rounds before overheating, the weapon beeping at her as the heat sink grew too hot, forcing the weapon to shut down. Hale dropped the weapon, not even putting it back onto her armor as she whipped out her N7 Piranha from the small of her back, the SpecOps Auto-Shotgun heavy and ugly, but serving only one purpose; to fill the air with death as quickly as possible. She pulled the trigger after switching the shotgun into full automatic, the ugly weapon 'whumping' flechettes of alumnisteel through its cannon-like barrel, filling the air with spinning razor-like needles of high-tensile metal at sub-light speeds. She went through all six rotating heat sinks with a single trigger pull, twelve shots of pure punishment spraying in front of her when one was enough to kill a Krogan.

"..ale! Hale! HALE!"

"What?" Williams had called her name as soon as the Piranha stopped firing, its overheat alarm ringing loudly.

"I! SAID! THEY'RE! ALL! DEAD!" The Army Staff Sergeant shouted, the pink-and-white blob to her right waving something over her head... oh, it was her arm in a 'stop shooting' hand-and-arm signal.

"Okay." The N7 racked the slide on the Piranha, exposing all six heat sinks to the air, dumping out its waste heat until the overheat alarm stopped ringing. The Auto-Shotgun went on her back as she picked up her Typhoon and repeated the same procedure, activating the bolt slide to expose the heat sink's convectional cooling process. Several seconds later, she popped the slide forward and shouldered the weapon. "Saren? Nihlus? I need you guys to scan perimeter while Williams checks my eyes. Don't like the thought of taking my helmet off in a warzone..." The Marine sighed as she saw the pink-and-white blob come closer to her as a pair of white blobs moved towards her helmet and unlatched it, pulling it off. Much to Hale's surprise, her vision was just fine! "Oh! Fuck! I _can_ see! That's a Goddamn relief!" Williams' face was one of astonishment before a smile broke out on her handsome face, obviously relieved. "Damn shot must have fucked the viewer on my HUD."

"Yeah, your helmet's worthless, now." Williams looked at the head plate and showed Jen what she was talking about, and the N7 was a little shocked to see that the round had smashed its way _through_ the armor, leaving a long groove curving along the helmet vertically for about an inch or so before coming out, leaving a hole about the size of her thumb, having curved upward instead of of burrowing straight and hitting her skull. "Million Credit shot, Colonel."

"Tell that to my right kidney. I think it's fertilizing some crops." Hale replied as she pulled out a tube of Medigel and began applying it to the gunshot wound at her side, the Sirta Foundation invention stinging something fierce as she coated the multi-functional gelatin onto the front site of the shot, and then to the one on her back, Williams giving her a hand. "Fuck... that's like... Purple Heart number eight or nine. Lost count."

"Probably should stop catching bullets, ma'am." Ash replied with a sarcastic grin. "Then again, I did get shot in the shoulder. That's number one for me."

"Whatever you do, don't get a tattoo that commemorates the event with 'Better Luck Next Time'."

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale stalked through the Constant Spaceport with her N7 Typhoon in hand, ready to engage Geth forces as Saren Arterius, Nihlus Kryik, and Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams moved in a column behind her, skirting from cover-to-cover as they moved deeper into the complex passing by several docks meant for smaller spacecraft, which were empty of Geth forces and anything remotely resembling alien technology. Hale had a sinking feeling in her gut that the large ship-thing they had saw earlier might have mean the means of transportation that carried away the Prothean Beacon, forever keeping it from their hands. She prayed quickly that it wasn't the case as the four of them moved to the next dock, the N7 pulling up short as she saw the tell-tale sign of flashlight heads of Geth warforms and warframes.

"Geth. Five. Trooper-sized." Hale whispered to the others as she stacked them against a wall by the dock entrance, preparing to assault. "Check fire. Device in center platform." The two Turian SPECTREs and human Army Staff Sergeant nodded as they readied their weapons, Hale switching her Typhoon for her M-55 Argus. She stood facing the corner, feeling Saren's left talons going on her shoulder, his HMWAR VII at the ready just over her shoulder as she waited for the countdown; Williams to tap Kryik, Kryik to tap Arterius, Arterius to tap her, and then to assault forward. Hale held her ground, her Argus at the ready as she felt two of Saren's talons 'tap-tap' on the pauldron of her right shoulder.

The N7 Marine charged forward, rounding the corner towards the dock as she took the easiest path available to her; crossing the entrance, or 'fatal-funnel', and continuing diagonally, checking the corner that was to her right, then at the back right hand side of the dock, and then the back left side of the dock, where her field of fire would be intersecting with the others, creating a crossfire that would whittle down opposition quickly and effectively in a small area. Hale cleared the fatal funnel, swinging right as she put a three-round burst into a Geth that crossed her line of sight, knocking the warform back a meter as she cleared the first corner, pivoting and firing at another warform, three rounds striking the Troopers' chest as she swept the back end of the room, hitting her first target again as it stabilized itself, her second burst blasting its chest open and sending it to the ground permanently as she shot at a third target, under fire from Nihlus Kryik, crumpling it. Hale swept back right and saw that her second target had been engaged by Staff Sergeant Williams, its chest plate blown off but still standing as she finished the AI platform with one final burst, destroying the hardware mobility warform frame. The N7 swept her Turian Battle Rifle left and right for survivors and found none as she locked back her weapons' bolt release, dispensing heat from its half-filled heat sink, locking it back into place three seconds later.

"Clear!" The Lieutenant Colonel shouted, hearing three more 'Clears!' from her team members, having cleared the small dock of hostiles. "Williams? Rear guard, grenadier. Saren? Nihlus? We've got a device to take a look at."

"Acknowledged." Arterius replied as they slung their respective weapons, each of them looking at the fifteen foot tall pillar that dominated the otherwise empty dock, a thing made of black metal and crafted by hands that none of them immediately recognized. The shape of it was strange, like a monolith that was slightly angled to get smaller at the top, with strange blue lines that seemed to be power conduits for the device. It pulsed with a strange, teeth-aching noise as Hale noticed that the very air around the device seemed to be warping slightly. Was the thing truly that powerful, or was it some sort of security measure? "Incredible. Commander, it looks to be as if the Beacon is unharmed."

"That's what worries me." The Lieutenant Colonel replied, looking to both SPECTREs, and then the device. "It's still here, so obviously they haven't had a chance to transport it yet, or they got what they needed."

"Jen, there's something at the base of the device." Nihlus pointed out, and her eyes went to the cylindrical object that sat in front of the device, about a meter and a half wide, perhaps a meter around, and with an obvious interface in the middle of it. Her blood ran cold at the sight of the object; she recognized it.

"Fuck... that's an Anti-Matter Device." Hale called out, unable to hide the dread in her words as both Turians looked at her, both of them expressing shock. "A _human-made_ Anti-Matter Device." She ran over to the bomb, ignoring the burning pain in her side from the gunshot wound, forcing it into the back of her mind as she reached the device, and saw that it was on a timer.

01:04. 01:03. 01:02.

"Fuck. Fuck! _Fuck!_ " Hale swore as she got onto her knees and accessed the Haptic interface, immediately locked out by a password encryption program. She opened up her Logic Arrest Omnitool and flicked through the war apps until she found her 'decryption' folder, and opened it up, finding the utilities to break into electronic protection programs. The N7 Marine muttered as she found the one she was looking for, 'Password Generator'. She accessed the app as her Omnitool displayed a Haptic screen in front of her, showing the level of encryption the device held, a whooping 512-bit mutating algorithm based upon quantum computations and factorials, and she grimaced as the program displayed thirteen sections within the flood of encrypted firewall protecting the devices VIOS. Thirteen separate numbers or symbols for the password. Less than a minute to hack it.

Hale began to sweat as she began to work.

Both of her hands went up and out as holographic dials appeared in front of both her hands, like dials on a safe as the Password Generator program began to work its magic on the firewall. Hale bit her lip as her hands began to rotate through the myriad of possibilities of the password protection program, the Generator app intended to go through every possible number and symbol into each field until the correct one was found, and moved to the next one. Physical interface was necessary as the program could get close to the symbol, but the algorithm embedded into the firewall was meant to defeat automatic hacking programs, meaning that a person was needed to cut through. Jen cursed as she rotated her left hand, spinning through the possibilities for the first section until three possibilities were narrowed down; all Greek lettering. She then rotated her right hand until the 'Epsilon' character was locked into place. One down. Twelve to go.

Fifty seconds.

Hale stuck with Greek, and the process became faster, able to cut through five sections of the password as the possibilities were limited to the twenty-four letters of the Greek alphabet, meaning she could cut through each symbol in a few seconds, giving her some breathing room. With seven sections of the password left, the N7 felt the sweat on her brow dripping down her face and into her eyes as she manipulated the dials, picking up a 'Xi' and a 'Rho' for the next two sections. She didn't dare let go of the dials, the Password Generator constantly engaging the 512-bit firewall, turning off if she let go of one of the holographic representations of the program, starting her back at the beginning. With twenty seconds left, that wasn't a fucking option. 'Alpha' was picked up as Hale went down to the last four with eighteen seconds left... 'Kappa' came next as Jen manipulated both left and right hands, muttering "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," to herself as the timer ticked down. Fourteen seconds. 'Gamma'. 'Zeta'. Finally, of course, 'Omega'.

Five seconds left.

The interface went green and Hale accessed the interface and quickly typed in 'end running program' onto the databar of the VIOS, selecting it with her breath held in suspense as the VIOS chimed with acknowledgement, and the timer froze in place.

00:01.

"Oh... fuck yes!" The N7 Marine flopped onto the ground, laying on her back as she began to laugh maniacally, wiping the sweat that had been running down her face as she became the host of two pairs of Turian eyes looking down at her. "Fifty megaton Anti-Matter bomb... defused! One second left to go." Nihlus looked over to the bomb's interface, and watched from upside down and staring up towards his Turian chin as his mandibles dropped, his plated face one of shock. "I'd like for my medals to be accompanied by alcohol and a Krogan to be used as a footstool!"

Hale rummaged through one of the hard cases on her armor, and gave a chuckle as she pulled out a small metal tube that was capped on one end. She unscrewed the tube and pulled out an Arcturus Blend Gold Label cigar, the Churchill going into her mouth as she found the 'lighter' app on her Omnitool and lit the end of the stogie, puffing at it in content, giving off a few waifing clouds of bluish smoke into the air. Saren held a hand out for her to take as Hale accepted the invitation and let herself be pulled up, wincing as her side exploded into pain, though thankfully the local numbing painkillers of the Medigel kept the worst of it at bay as she looked to the bomb, and then to the device that it sat in front of. Staff Sergeant Williams appeared next to her, looking at the bomb case, and then at her, her brown eyes wide as her own jaw dropped at the sight of one second left on the timer.

"Ma'am, you are, officially, my personal fucking hero." The Army Staff Sergeant claimed as Hale snorted, handing over the cigar to Williams, who looked a little shocked at the offer, but took it up anyhow. Ash took a few puffs, blowing out a ring of cigar smoke into the air. "I could get use to this." The Staff Sergeant commented as she pulled the cigar from out of her mouth and handed it back to the Lieutenant Colonel, who stuck it between her teeth.

"Well, now we just need comms up and the _Normandy_ for a pick-up." Hale replied, looking to the Turian SPECTREs. "So, Prothean doohickey is secured finally. We could probably clear the rest of the Spaceport if we had to for other little neat tricks, traps, and Geth ambushes. Moving it is a bad idea, I think; we have no idea what's going on outside our little slice of war-torn hell."

"Agreed. A defensive position would be best." Nihlus replied with a nod of his head, looking to all of them. "This would be the best location to perform some emergency trauma aid as well." The Turian looked to his partner, the Biotic Turian not looking so well, in Hale's opinion. "I shall keep a lookout at the entrance while you tend to your injuries. And Jen? That was a Spirits-be-damn fine performance. I certainly couldn't defuse that bomb."

* * *

" _...le? Colonel Hale? Are you there?"_

"Holy shit! Master Sergeant, that you?" Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale put a finger in her communications bud in her right ear as heavy static swam through the tiny speaker, distorting Master Staff Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo's voice bad enough to where it sounded like she was trying to talk through static snow. "We're at the objective, five-by-five, but unable to raise anyone on comms! How are things on your end?"

" _Nailed a Geth ...mming tower... lots of civvies holdin... got some more Army a... cops to hold ou..."_

"Shit. Can barely read you, Typhoon. We're going to set up a SATCOM, see if we can cut through the interference!" Hale shouted, hoping that she could be heard by the Master Sergeant. Just hearing Maldonaldo's voice had her spirits raised immeasurably; if Paula was still alive, then she probably dragged half the Marine platoon from the grave single-handedly. "Saren? Nihlus? You guys got any spare Omnigel? I can minifacture a SATCOM and program it, but I'm going to run out of my supply quickly enough."

"Here." Saren tossed a small canister, equaling about a kilogram of the manufacturable substance. Hale took her own out, connecting it to the reception port of her Omnitool on the underside of her wrist, and selecting through the minifature app folder, found 'SATCOM' as a product with the required amount of Omnigel required, as well as the time necessary to make it. Selecting the program, Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale held out her hand towards the ground as several lasers began to 'print' out a miniature Satillite Communicator, the three-dimensional Omnigel printer quickly manufacturing the simple device layer-by-layer, creating the necessary wires and component chips she would need to program to make it work. Four minutes later, the N7 pulled out her empty canister of Omnigel and inserted Saren's, continuing the process as she began coding Alliance Communication Protocols on her Omnitool, the jamming finally having died away enough for her to access the higher processing power of her Omnitool. She wouldn't have done so before in fear of hacking and uploading of vital information from her wrist-mounted computer, but with the Geth suppressed, she had to chance it. It took another two minutes for the 3D printer to create the one-and-a-half foot tall satellite, and Hale connected her uplink line from her Omnitool to the manufactured communicator to download the simple communications protocol she had just written into the SATCOM. Looking at her Haptic screen, she saw that there were at least five communication satellites in orbit with where she had pointed the array towards. With it, she could access Eden Prime's communications network, and get into contact with anyone within an AU of the colony. With that, she changed the frequency broadcast.

" _Normandy, Normandy,_ this is Colonel Hale! Please respond, channel Whiskey Oscar Tango-193-Zulu. _Normandy_ , please respond!" Hale held her breath, hoping that the Ohio-Class Frigate hadn't been shot down or destroyed. " _Normandy_ , this is Hale! Are you there?"

" _...ale! We re... *hiss* roken and unreada...*squelch* end loca... pick-up...*static* irst!"_ The voice, despite the static and distortion, was definitely that of Captain David Edward Anderson. The Marine almost whooped in joy as it came out the SATCOM's tiny speaker for all of them to hear.

"Can barely understand you, _Normandy!_ " Hale replied, though she was smiling. "We're located at the Constant Spaceport, and we have the Package! Have Med Bay ready to treat three minor casualties, and the Cargo Bay with a hoverskid for recovery! You copy?"

 _"Copy... paceport... package... three mino... overskid."_

"Good enough." Hale turned the tuning dial on her Omnitool, moving it to her platoon's comm channel. "Typhoon? You read me?"

 _"Damn you took your sweet ass time! What am I, a Friday night booty call?"_

"You're out of my league, Mama Bear!" Hale laughed, hearing Master Sergeant Maldonaldo's voice coming in, though it sounded tinny and distorted. "I had to make a SATCOM, and just pulled up the Normandy! Give me a location, and we'll have them pick-up the platoon."

 _"Tell them to bring bodybags, Jen. We lost most everyone."_ The Lieutenant Colonel looked up from her Omnitool and her eyes found Saren's as she felt like a knife just went into her heart. _"We saved a shit ton of colonists, and grabbed a bunch of Army guys, cops, militia, and anyone else willing to shoot at Geth. Took a ton of abuse, though."_

"How many?" A taloned hand went on her shoulder, and Hale saw Saren standing there, putting his hand on her shoulder, comforting her. She wished it wasn't that obvious, but she appreciated it all the same.

 _"We saved about four to five thousand from Constant itself."_ The Master Staff Sergeant answered. _"They stopped sending machines in about ten minutes ago. We lost... twenty-four so far. Another seven don't look like they're going to make it if we don't get some medical aid soon."_

"I'm switching to _Normandy_ and sending it to you first, get those casualties to Doc Chakwas. I need your coordinates." A few minutes of receiving numbers, switching frequencies, and getting the _Normandy_ on the horn, Jen had the Frigate heading towards her Marine platoon with an ETA of less than five minutes. Another thirty minutes it would be their turn. "Okay, We should be under way in about an hour. 1st Battalion TRU should be here in about forty mikes, ready to clean and sweep the rest of the Geth resistance, unless someone fell asleep at Pinnacle. Saren, why don't you pop over here so I can change that dressing? Williams, you too. We got some breathing time, so let's not waste it by letting our wounds get worse."

Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams complied easily enough, though Saren Arterius didn't look pleased at the thought, though half the time Hale had been messaging out, he had been pressing his taloned hand against the right side of his face. "Ash? You're first. Take a sit and take your pauldron off." The Colonial Army soldier nodded as she took a seat on a small nearby crate, removing her damaged pauldron. Hale pulled out her Medigel while taking a look at the in-and-out gunshot wound to the Staff Sergants' shoulder. It looked to have missed the clavicle and shoulder blade, going underneath the collarbone and coming out just next to the protective bone plate that covered Williams' shoulder joint. She had gotten lucky; an inch or so in any other direction would have shattered bone, hit an organ, hit an artery, or just blown her arm clean off. Hale gently took a small swab and wiped away at the old Medigel and began applying fresh applications to the wound, both front and back, and doing her best to get the medicinal remedy in as deep as she could. Williams winced as the N7 worked, but never said a word of complaint as she finished a minute or two later. "There we go, Army. A few stitches and a few days and you should be as good as new."

"Thanks, Colonel." The Staff Sergeant reattached her pauldron onto her right shoulder as she eyeballed the breach in Hale's armor. "Your turn. Take your top off."

"Wow, no courtesy 'Can I buy you a drink' first, Williams?" Hale replied, deadpanned as the Sergeant's face sourly twisted up as a smile broke through, making her chuckle afterwards. "Gotta make a deal with me, Ash, woman-to-woman. Whatever you see... you fucking keep to yourself." The N7 looked at the Soldier, who looked at her oddly, surprised by Hale's new tone of voice. Then her brown eyes got wide.

"Yeah, okay. I get it." Williams replied, her tone meek, her eyes flicking to the wound in question and and then to Hale's hard blue eyes. The soldier nodded, and Hale proceeded to take off her Aldrin Labs' Onxy Interceptor Armor (Heavy) piece by piece; the pauldrons, the bracers, the vanbraces, the chest piece, and finally the back piece. Her hands went to the bottom hem of her CATsuit, the top portion peeling away from the contours and curves of her body thanks to its Alpine Battery System and electrostatic current running through the next-gen synthetic fiber. Jen was wearing her Alliance-Issue sport bra under her CATsuit, the blue piece of lingerie a little embarrassing to be exposed with in a combat zone. "Oh... oh _fuck_..." Williams breathed out, undoubtedly able to see what was on her back; another little reminder of Mindoir. Hale tried not to think of it, easily remembering what was on her back, and how it got there.

"My gunshot wound, Williams." Hale reminded the Staff Sergeant, getting a small, weak nod from Williams as Hale looked at Saren Arterius, who thankfully stood a couple meters away, looking into the distance of Eden Prime, undoubtedly pretending he hadn't heard every word to give her some form of dignity. Williams, though Colonial Army, proved herself to be quite capable as she checked Hale's side shot, her fingers both diligent and careful as she scrapped away the old Medigel and began apply new coats into her injury. Hale gritted her teeth at the pain that, while less than what the gunshot felt like, still hurt like a motherfucker. It took a few minutes for her to finish, but Williams proved to be good at what she did, admitting softly that it was her first time every having to do it 'for real'. The Lieutenant Colonel realized that this was probably the Staff Sergeants' first combat action. "Ash... you did yourself proud out here today. When the _Normandy_ comes, you've got yourself a berth, and I'll make sure that Captain Anderson files the battlefield transfer paperwork."

"A spaceside posting?" The shock and surprise on the Soldier's face was quite obvious, Williams' jaw dropping open as she looked at Hale as the Lieutenant Colonel slid her CATsuit top down, covering her upper torso before picking up her Onyx Armor and reattaching it into place. "On a Frigate?"

"State-of-the-art, top-of-the-line stealth Frigate. Best of its class." Hale gave a small smile as Ash's face turned into a broad grin. "You earned it, Army. Besides, I have a feeling that we're going to be needing a few extra recycling bins for all the cans we're going to be crushing under our boots. Want in?"

" _Fuck... yes, ma'am!_ " Williams popped a perfect salute, right then and there as Hale finished attaching one of her vanbraces, doing her best to answer the salute while trying to attach her armor. "Always wanted to serve out in space."

"Well, here's your chance, Staff Sergeant. Welcome to the _Normandy_ , Army." The N7 Marine stuck out her hand, and the Colonial Soldier shook it.

* * *

A/N: A buddy of mine who got shot during a deployment (a light in-and-out in the beef of his upper arm) indeed got a tattoo that read 'Better Luck Next Time' around it. I, in fact, named an OC in this story after his last name; Maldonaldo.

In Battle Drill 6A, the 'countdown' actually starts with the lead man tapping backwards, going down the line to the last man, and then tapping forward back to the lead man, indicating that everyone is ready, and then starting the assault. For those who have never kicked in the door and FBI Raid a room like the Fist of God, it is intense, hectic, and extremely stressful, especially in the dark.

I tried making a hacking program that isn't like hacking programs today; you might set up a pre-set code for such things, but each firewall and protection program has its unique layouts, and require personal code imputs to tailor it for better success. The 'Password Generator' is one of the oldest hacks in computing, right next to the 'Dictionary Finder'. The Password Generator does work by inserting an individual letter/number/symbol into each entry until the right one is found, moving onto the next one. The more complicated the password (letters, symbols, numbers, characters from other languages, etc.) the longer it takes. 'Dictionary Finder' simply goes through every word in the dictionary until the right word is found. Much of my information comes from an old PC game called 'UpLink' which while originally from the late 90's, has been revitalized for Android Tablets. I recommend a look into it for those who are interested in puzzles and strategy games. The 512-bit encryption firewall with mutating algorithm and based upon quantum computation and fractors, on the other hand, is completely made up. I'm not even sure if that's technically possible, or even if I know what the hell I'm talking about. It sounded cool, futuristic, and complicated.

CATsuit - Combat Armor, Tactical. A black one-piece jumpsuit that conforms to the wearer's body by the means of electrostatic current, the CATsuit is the first and last line of defense for our brave men and women in Blue. A next-gen synthetic fiber weave in a close-knit weave patterned down to the nearest micron, it is ten times more durable and resistant to penetration of common humans rounds than its ancestor, Kevlar. Worn standard underneath BDU's (Battle Duty Uniforms) and Combat Armor, CATsuits protect our fighting forces in peace and wartime, giving our off-duty personnel the ability to shrug off a few rounds, and a last line of defense for those in battle if their shields and armor should fall victim to an onslaught. Bonding to the wearer's figure when given a microamp of current, it becomes elastic and easy to remove when shut off, and the Alpine Battery System ensures that the wearer need not worry of having to recharge it for upwards to a year under normal conditions. Rated for taking up to three shots from a standard M7 Lancer, and seven rounds from a standard M10 Kessler, the CATsuit has proven to have reduced battlefield casualties up to 30% in standard combat zones. - From the Alliance News Network program, _Would You Like To Know More?_

What? The Beacon hasn't popped yet? Stay tuned for next weeks' episode of the Hale/Meer Chronicles as Hale teaches Saren about shadow puppets and making the Geth cry.


	27. Arterius: Memories

**Arterius: Memories**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

A/N:  To the US Army Ranger that somehow got himself a combat knife kill with an MRE Spoon; seriously, was the can opener not available? Who the fuck keeps a plastic spoon on their kit? Was there a razor blade attached to it just in case shit got real in the prison yard? WTF... between the gun, the mags, your K-pot, some hand-to-hand shit, and probably the thirteen pocket knives stashed on everybody, you had to go shank somebody with plastic butter knife that wasn't even considered a weapon in school systems until you carved up a terrorist.

I would probably bronze the shit out of that spoon, now. Just saying.

Next time? Carry a Gerber.

* * *

Chapter 25: Arterius, Memories

Constant, Eden Prime, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183 1441 Constant Time Zone

Saren Arterius bit off a growl as he felt gentle stubby talons working along the pain-filled plates of his cheek as Commander Jennifer Hale inspected the wound that went from the inside of his mouth to the outside of his face. He couldn't help but touch the inside portion of his wound with his tongue, and had unfortunately licked all the Medigel from the inner portion of his mouth, making his tongue feel funny and giving a bad taste in his mouth and throat. Hale clucked as she inspected and probed the wound, careful to take off the old Medigel from the site and applying more of the dextro-oriented compound onto the site before taking off the old bandage and replacing it with a new, clean bandage. Saren looked at the contents of the gauze, seeing blue stains on it from where he had bled into it. He still hadn't seen it yet, but he knew it was quite painful to move his mandible at all, as well as talk.

"I'm not even going to ask how the hell you managed to almost swallow a bullet, Saren." Hale commented softly, though the Human's eyes were sympathetic, and the Biotic Turian merely grunted, the pain in his cheek and mouth slowly numbing from the new application of Medigel. "You... you lost some of your teeth, and you got some flash burns on the inside of your mouth and your tongue. Still, you're damn lucky, SPECTRE, a centimeter more to the left..." The N7 didn't finish. She didn't need to.

"Jerked. Last second." Saren spoke, his voice sputtering and guttural as it inflamed his mouth almost to the point he wanted to howl in pain. That would undoubtedly make it worse.

"It really was her, wasn't it?" Hale asked, her blue eyes pained as she looked to the Turian, and he could tell she was fighting something inside of her. She didn't want to believe him, that her adopted clan-sister wasn't responsible for his almost murder. But something else inside of her knew he wasn't lying. He could only nod, not trusting his words. Not because of the damage to his face, but because he knew how Hale must be feeling; he had once been in that position with his own brother, Desolas Arterius. "I... fuck, Saren. I don't know what to believe." Hale sat on a small crate, wincing as she put a hand on her wounded side, grimacing either from the thoughts or the pain. The pain was probably a welcome distraction from the wound in her heart.

"Tell me of her." Saren sputtered, getting Hale to look at him sharply, but there was no incrimination in his face or tone. Her face-plates fell as she closed her eyes, obviously reliving bitter memories.

"I first met her... after Mindoir." The N7 Commander spoke softly, aware that the Human female, Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams, was right there, probably able to hear every word. "My first memory was waking up on a Med Bay table on a strange ship with a redheaded teenaged girl holding my hand, telling me that I was safe, that she would look out for me." Hale went silent for a moment, her horizontal mandibles smiling sadly. "I was... beyond a wreck. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't lay on my back because of my injuries. Traumatized and jumping at every noise and shadow. And Jannie held my hand the _entire_ time, talking to me, listening to me, reassuring me." A grimace came to Hale's face-plates, obviously remembering those days after Mindoir. "She kept me from the brink, Saren. I probably would have blown my own brains out to escape the pain if it hadn't been for Jane Catherine Shepard. She saved my life, my soul, my... everything."

"You love her." Saren realized, remembering what he had seen on the _Normandy_ XO's Omnitool recorder, how the N7 seemed to favor the company of other Human females. It wasn't a practice that the Hierarchy in general saw in a favorable light. Nor, as he understood it, did the Human System Alliance.

"Of course I fucking love her." Hale spat out, louder than she intended as she looked to Williams, grimacing as the Army Staff Sergeants' face-plates went red briefly and turned away politely, discretely pretending that she had heard nothing. "I practically worshiped the ground she walked on, would have done anything... _anything_ , for her. She... didn't feel the same way that I felt, though she never said a word to anyone. The Alliance has a hard-on against same-sex relationships, trying to up the population to make up for expansion and losses." The N7 went silent, looking away for a moment.

"Jannie was always there for me those first couple of years after Mindoir. She was the one who convinced me to join the Alliance, helped me through my GED, walked me through the physical training regiment to help improve my body for service in the Alliance. Convinced me... convinced me to go to the Naval Academy with her, to be a Commissioned Officer, to stand proud over my past, to prove that I was more than just _dead weight_." Saren didn't understand why the last two words were said with such scorn; obviously, someone had said that to Hale at some point in the past, something that made the Human woman bristle with anger. "Jannie was my sister, my friend, my confident, and my hero. Whenever I couldn't sleep because of the nightmares, she would hold me until I stopped shaking. Whenever the fear and terror won out and no one else could pull me out of some corner I had ran and hid in, it was Jannie that pulled me out with soothing words and understanding eyes. When I found out that I was p..." Hale stopped, froze, looked to both Saren and Williams, her eyes wide with alarm. She shook her head quickly, obviously never going to finish that sentence. "Every terrible step I took out of darkness and despair, Jane Shepard was there right beside me, holding my hand, encouraging me, believing _in_ me. I am who I am, what I am, today because of my sister.

"And today I just found out she may have been a part of all this shit."

Saren couldn't think of the words that would reassure the Human female that sat in front of him, obviously suffering from the thought that her adopted sister may be a traitor. Spirits, it was a feeling he once knew himself, some twenty-six years ago, with his own brother, Desolas. He thought about the events on Shanxi and Palaven, of the change that his brother had exhibited, the electric blue eyes he had after interacting with the Prothean monolith... the same electric blue eyes that Commander Jane Shepard herself had when he saw her. _Spirits, how could I have forgotten that?_ The SPECTRE thought to himself, remembering how surprised he had been to seen the Human N7 Naval Officer with those eyes. He had thought that perhaps he hadn't of known, that the Alliance hadn't made mention of Shepards' unusual eye color. But he had seen eyes like that before, his brothers' grey-colored eyes having gone an electric blue after his interaction with the mysterious device on Shanxi. With that thought, Saren lifted his left arm and activated his Omnitool and began to type quickly, his three-taloned right hand quickly composing a message that he sent to the Marine that sat there, suffering silently. The words had finally come to him.

 _My own brother was my hero when I was growing up,_ Saren wrote quickly. _I wanted nothing more than to be like him. When the 314 Relay Incident occurred, he was given a mission by the Hierarchy to recover a Prothean device that was on Shanxi, and he brought me along due to the sensitivity of the mission, as well as the trust he had in me. During the mission, I was captured by a small group of human mercenaries who spared my life, but were witness to what the device had done to my brother. Desolas had taken the device back to Palaven after my rescue, taking the mercenaries as captives. The device had changed my brother; no longer was he a proud member of the Hierarchy; he was something else. He sent Turian soldiers to the device, changing them into something horrifying as he tried to explain to me how he was going us all a favor, sparing us a fate worse than death. One of the human mercenaries, Ben, had been changed as well. The leader of the mercenaries and myself resolved to stop my brother and the device, and we buried it under a mountain, costing me the life of my brother, as well as the mercenary's best friend and his pregnant lover. To this day, I still do not wear the markings of Clan Arterius due to the events that unfolded._

"Okay, but why are you telling me this?" Hale asked after she had read the message, looking up from her Omnitool to the SPECTRE. "I mean, you had to kill your brother because he was... oh."

 _Shepard had the same electric blue eyes that my brother had._ Saren typed. _Those husks... looked just like what Ben Haslop looked like after he was forced towards the device. My brother wasn't the same after the device. You know your sister best, and can't explain why she acted the way she did, just like I couldn't explain why my brother was so different after he interacted with the monolith. Your sister was missing for four years, presumed dead. Now that we know she is alive and well, who is to say what she saw or encountered during those years?_

"Jannie... fuck." Hale murmured to herself, putting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her five-stubby taloned hands. "I would have given anything to have gotten word that she was alive. But this... this wasn't what I wanted. I wanted her alive, happy, popping out some brats or getting her Admiral stars. Learning that she might be a traitor?" The N7 lifted her head, and Saren saw that Hale had water droplets coming from her eyes... tears. "How the fuck did everything become so upside down?" To that, Saren could only shake his head; he didn't have an answer either. "Saren? Thanks, for being... there, understanding. I'm sorry my sister shot you in the face."

 _You took care of me. Thank you._ That was probably the first time Saren could ever think of a Human helping him out as Hale had, tending to his wounds, looking out for him. Then again, Hale had proven herself time and again to be a far more accepting being than he had ever been. If Hale had been wounded as he had during the mission, would he have paused from completing the objective to tend to her? A comrade? Nihlus, even? It reminded him of the scenario he had proposed to her over a week ago in her quarters, the terrorist and the hostage. In this instant, she was more worried about the life of a comrade... a Turian comrade, at that. While that wouldn't be the kind of answer the Counsel would have enjoyed hearing, Saren himself had a hard time faulting her for the kind of thinking that few in the galaxy had. Of course he was biased, considering he was the one in question she had saved. But still... most wouldn't have gone out of their way to save a SPECTRE. Most normal citizens would have fled whatever calamity the SPECTRE would have been trying to stop, and other only others that might have been there would be criminals that injured said SPECTRE.

He had never been grateful to a Human before, but for Hale, he found himself respecting the feeling.

"So... what do we do now, Saren?" Hale looked up to him, her eyes troubled. "Turn my sister into the Counsel? Call her a traitor and a villain?"

 _For now, we collect evidence._ The SPECTRE typed, thinking things over as he did. _We assume that she had something to do with this, but our only proof is that she happened to be on Eden Prime at the same time as the Geth. It is flimsy evidence, at best. That the Geth were here for the Beacon is obvious, but we do not understand why. That ship, too, is a mystery. This is a time for gathering intelligence, for asking questions, to seeking out experts and specialists and having them work their own conclusions for us to follow. The true work of a SPECTRE; the defeat of our enemies is the prize at the end, but we must make sure we understand who our enemies are and what they represent before the final bullet flies. Prevents worse things coming down, like with your Scout Kill Team that you mentioned before with the young human female and the Blue Suns Batarians._

"Okay, I get that." Hale breathed out after she read the message. "I'm just... not comfortable with accusing my sister of anything. I still can't believe that she was here, that you saw her. Looking for her for four years, and I was hundreds of meters away. The things I would say, what I would ask..." The Marine Commander looked troubled. "I guess I should get use to the thought that we might be hunting Jannie. Something happened here that's a lot bigger than us, and she's mixed up in it. People like Jane Shepard don't disappear off the face of the galaxy; something happened, something occurred. And I _need_ to know what, and why."

 _Exactly._

* * *

Fifteen minutes had passed as the SATCOM received word that the _Normandy's_ Marine Platoon had been picked up by the Ohio-Class Frigate, and that vessel would be making a rendezvous with the Spaceport in approximately ten minutes. Commander Jennifer Hale had been fiddling with the SATCOM, trying to pick up more chatter from various resistance groups and surviving military units on Eden Prime while Saren Arterius waited, doing his best to ignore the pain in his right cheek and mandible. There wasn't much to do save to wait for the Frigate to come, and the only thing to do was to protect the Prothean Beacon that occupied the dock with them. Saren had studied the artifact for about a minute or so, grateful that it didn't look like the thing that he and his brother Desolas had found on Shanxi. He still didn't trust the thing; even the most benign of Prothean Devices had some sort of security measures to them, as he understood it, and the unprepared could easily be killed from such things or driven insane. None of them had approached the Device, and Hale had been the closest to it, when she had defused the Anti-Matter Bomb that laid but a meter and a half from the actual Device itself. It still radiated some sort of residual energy or power, and that was enough to give warning to the four of them to stay clear of the 50,000 year old object.

A pity the Protheanologists had been... what was the term Hale had used? _Lobotomized?_ Some sort of expert would have been nice to have for when they had to move it and store it in the _Normandy._

"...Okay, Precinct 13. Be advised that spotters have seen remnants of Geth moving south-by-southwest through the western edges of Constant." Commander Hale spoke to the SATCOM, obviously trying to coordinate relief efforts and resistances. "Numbers are sketchy, but approximately twenty Trooper Warforms, with additional Recon Drones. I advise bunkering down until Second Fleet arrives within the hour. Protecting the civilians you've got is more important than getting your officers killed." The N7 switched the frequency, apparently to talk to someone else. "257? This is Lieutenant Colonel Hale, with the SSV _Normandy_. I've got an updated militia roster and locations of EPCA survivors. Prepare for data dissemination on this frequency." He watched as the Marine typed something into her Omnitool, and uploaded it into the SATCOM, undoubtedly sending reports to whatever ground command there was left in and around Constant. "Data uploaded. Did you get the...? Good. Tell General Myers that Second Fleet should be here within the hour with additional personnel for sweep-and-clear operations, as well as medical trauma teams. According to eyes-on, it seems the Geth have either moved on or have retreated for the time being. Advise taking the time to restock, resupply, and reinforce until Fleet gets here. Yes... yes, General. Yes, I lost most of my men, too. No, General, I do not have the cargo space for evacuations... civilian _or_ military." That had Saren snort. "No, General, I am the _Normandy's_ XO... and my Captain will agree with me." Hale looked over to him and mouthed the words _fucking coward_ , and the Turian had to bite off a laugh, his mouth still hurting. "I'm sorry, sir, I think we have TIC on another frequency..." Hale flipped the frequency with a curse.

"Goddamn useless podunk weekend armchair General." Hale swore viciously, her tone ugly. "How'd that fucker get a star?"

"General Scott Myers has a well-known reputation from his days as an Alliance CID Investigator." Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams supplied, her tone so neutral it had to be disgust. "He is very by-the-books, and a dear friend to several Senators of Eden Prime. I believe that his father was the Colonial Governor for a good many years before I was stationed here after Boot."

"That explains it. Useless fucker." The Marine was definitely not holding back. "Wanted to use the _Normandy_ as a personal fucking escape pod. Come to find out that useless fucker, upon the first sounds of battle, fled Constant in his personal aircar and was hiding out in his family estate." Saren couldn't help but watch and listen. It was entertaining to see Hale mad at someone, he came to realize. She reminded him of himself when it came to the issues of incompetence in others in the military. "I swear to God that I'm going to recommend a court martial for treason for that fucker when we get back. Perhaps they'll forgive General Maxwell Williams and stop talking shit about him."

"General... Maxwell Williams?" Ash asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah, the guy who fought for Shanxi tooth and nail." Hale explained, and Saren did recall General Maxwell Williams, remembering seeing him as he surrendered the colony to the Seventh Palavenian Fleet. "He fought for three weeks against the Turians, against kinetic strikes from orbit when we didn't even have GTS Batteries. Had to surrender when the people were starving for so long they started dying from it. Pity Admiral Drescher and Fleet Master Grissom weren't three days faster, but what can you do?" Saren felt... hollow hearing that. The kinetic strikes against Marines and militiamen on Shanxi foraging for food he knew about, but he hadn't known that people were actually dying from starvation. That was a low way to kill an enemy. Of course, the Turians were doing such a thing just to get the new-found race to surrender, but he hadn't expected them to... to take it so far. Humanity was expected to surrender before it happened, not watch their people die hollow.

"I... I didn't know you respected General Williams." The Army Staff Sergeant said slowly.

"Respect him? Guy's a fucking hero in my book." Hale snorted, shaking her head. "Some politician gets a bug up the ass because the man surrendered? They can go fuck themselves. There's a big difference in between fighting for and dying for a cause, and just plain dying for nothing. General Williams knew the difference, and the man willingly gave himself up to buy his people time to evacuate. Every ground veteran of Shanxi I've ever met has the same thing to say about Maxwell Williams; that the man was the leader they needed, and the scapegoat that Earth created. Go figure spineless cowards can ruin a man who devotes himself to protecting the same self-said useless fuckers."

"He was my grandfather." Ash said quickly and breathlessly, and both Hale and Saren found themselves staring at the Staff Sergeant.

"No shit." Hale looked at Saren for a moment, oddly at that. "No offense, but you don't exactly seem to be pleased about that fact."

"Because... because of Shanxi, my father was kicked out of Naval Academy, and made an enlisted member. Never made it beyond Petty Officer, Third Class." Ash explained, and Hale jerked back as if struck. Saren wasn't sure what he was hearing. He assumed that was a low rank... the Alliance had permanently suppressed the man just because of his fathers' actions? That was... well, the Hierarchy did do that. The comparison left a bad taste in Saren's injured mouth; he didn't agree with the Hierarchy doing such things, either. "I'm extremely fortunate to have made Staff Sergeant. Every Board I ever went to had the same question; 'are you like your grandfather'?" The Human woman snorted as she wiped a lone wet spot on her cheek. "I love him and hate him at the same time. It's... complicated."

"I get that. Believe me, I get that." The N7 replied, standing up from the SATCOM and approaching the Colonal Soldier. "One of those Shanxi veterans I spoke about? My father, Patrick. He was on Shanxi. So was I and my family, in fact." That had Saren surprised; he hadn't seen anything on Hale's record indicating that she had been on the colony! Hale would have been... a hatchling of three years, being bombarded by the Turian Fleets, probably being fed her mothers' rations so she wouldn't go hungry. That would have meant her older brother, Nathan, would have been there, too. The thought of bringing war on hatchlings, starving them out... Spirits, what had they been thinking? Saren had hated the Human race for years, but now that he was interacting with them, he was beginning to understand why Humanity seemed to hate and fear the galaxy and its species at large. How many Humans had he scoffed at as they bleated about how they were treated... had those Human been _right?_ Had he been blind to the injustices that had been visited upon a race that discovered Faster-Than-Light travel on its own? That ventured forth into the galaxy without Counsel help and guidance? Fleet Master Jon Grissom had been the first Human to translate through a Mass Relay... possibly the first sentient being to be labeled a true explorer of the unknown since... well, since the Asari and Salarians did the same thing over 4,500 years ago. "Your grandfather's actions saved my family. My father knew that to be a fact." Williams looked at the Commander with wide eyes, obviously surprised as well. "Now? I got the chance to repay the favor by saving his granddaughter and giving her the chance the Alliance denied him."

"I... I don't know what to say." Williams admitted, sounding befuddled.

"Don't say, just show your worth and everything else will work out fine." The N7 replied with a smile. "Now, _Normandy_ should be here in a few minutes, and... ho-lee... fuck." Hale was looking at something over Williams shoulder, and both Saren and the Army Staff Sergeant turned to see what Hale had been looking at.

Commander Mark Meer had returned.

* * *

A/N: Wait... when's that mindrape device suppose to be going off?

Hale mentions to General Myers that there is a TIC... and promptly hangs up on him. For you non-military types, TIC is the acronym for 'Troops In Contact', and is generally the highest priority for radio communications, superseding orders and instructions, though sometimes not as high as as a CASEVAC/MEDEVAC. CASEVAC is Casualty Evacuation and MEDEVAC is Medical Evacuation. A CASEVAC generally involves a helicopter (usually the faster method) and a MEDEVAC generally involves a ground vehicle, though both terms are fluid and dependent on location, situation, enemy forces, and status of the injured. Concerning the Iraq/Afghan Wars, the number of casualties compared to the number of fatalities of American service members is heavily skewed towards survivability, at a ratio greater than ten to one (meaning out of twelve combat injuries, there's a fatality). No war has enjoyed such a ratio, which usually pegs at the one to one ratio (one gets hurt, another killed).

Meer has returned. This should be good. Bring popcorn and betting stubs. Five bucks says you won't see this one coming. ;)


	28. Meer: Overload

**Meer: Overload**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 26: Meer, Overload

Constant, Eden Prime, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183 1333 Constant Time Zone

"SCATTER!"

Commander Mark Meer jumped off the Tram as it approached the Spaceport station as rounds began impacting against the Tram, the metal floor around him, and even one round glancing off his Omnigel Plated Armor, shattering that portion of Tech Armor that was protecting his lower back. Meer grunted as he hit dirt and began hoofing it away from the mass of Geth warforms that were littering the Spaceport, almost two dozen of the mechs holding a superior position. His breathing came fast and hard as he sprinted further away from the threat, intent to getting to some kind of superior positioning; high ground, adequate cover, perhaps finding some mobile armor platform to use. He sprinted for a good solid minute before finding himself cresting a hill before turning around, and to his dismay, found himself alone.

The rest of the idiots had stayed _on_ the platform!

"Go fucking figure." The Commander breathed out, shaking his head as he scanned around his position, seeing that he was a good half-a-kilometer away from the Spaceport. He could make out the cunt, the slut and the spikes as they were being shot at, hiding behind small walls and soda machines. They were going to get killed... and Meer wasn't too saddened by the idea. Hell, he could turn that to his advantage! All he needed to do was find a decent gun platform, like a GRZLY or a MAKO, and blast the Geth and recover the Beacon for himself! With the cunt dead and the spikes gone, there'd be no one else but him to nay-say him! Oh, sure, he'd remember to commemorate their efforts, it wouldn't do to just blatantly call them morons in front of the cameras. But with those obstacles removed, he would pave his way to becoming Humanity's First SPECTRE.

Now where could he find a tank?

Meer walked the countryside of Eden Prime, getting further and further away from Constant, the Colonial capital city. It was actually a clean, pretty city... for a colony; kept agrarian, simple, and neat. Something about the original colonists having decided that instead of shooting up a bunch of pre-fabs and sprawling all over the place, they had build slow and deliberate, planning ahead for their needs and growing requirements of the population. Thus Constant was a well-organized city built in the layout of a grid with wide roads, trees lining the streets, and a public transportation that actually made sense. As far as colonies went, Constant was a crown jewel.

Well, not anymore.

Meer steered away from Constant and its city limits, smartly avoiding where the Geth would be at their strongest. He wasn't an idiot; alone, he would be lucky to take on more than a few at a time. No, this kind of action required brains, not brawn. The victor of such things generally was the one armed with the biggest gun, so that was what Commander Mark Meer was going to do; find himself a Goddamn tank and run over some Geth. Seriously, that's what they should have done in the first place! But the cunt had given the M35 MAKO to the bulletcatching Marines to go save the nobodies, and now here he was, out in the open with no armor. Of course it was up to him to save the day! He was a man, after all! Who the hell expected a _woman_ to come up with a plausible solution that would turn things around? Cunt probably got them all killed.

Not his problem.

Meer walked for a good forty minutes before he came to the conclusion that there were no tanks, airships, transports, personnel carriers, or a fricking _trackbike_ to be found. The few vehicles he had seen were now roaring plumbs of smoke and fire, their Heavy Helium fuel tanks ruptured and burning. There were bodies littering the fields outside of Constant, meaning that the Geth had either swept through the area, were sweeping, or may even be coming back to the capital. He hadn't seen another living soul save for the Army slut and the frightened dockworker. He had seen plenty of bodies spiked on those weird tripods. Those he wisely steered clear of.

Meer decided to turn back.

There was no other option; the only clear area was behind him, and the only place to go was the Spaceport. Perhaps he could infiltrate the platform, come from a direction that the Geth weren't expecting. Perhaps the Beacon wasn't guarded, just the Spaceport itself. Feeling more confident with his plan, the Naval Commander made his way back to the Spaceport, noticing that the fighting in the capital was no longer so intense, only a few sporadic rounds being fired every minute or so as oppose to the seemingly constant barrage that displayed itself earlier. He wasn't too worried about the forces inside Constant; he was easily a dozen kilometers away, and unless the Geth started using airships or speeders, they wouldn't be able to move towards him fast enough without him noticing their approach and making a tactical retreat.

The march back was thankfully without event as he found himself within sight of the Spaceport and using the small-powered scope on his M-15 Vindicator, was glad to see that the Geth that had once inhabited the main platform were gone... no, they were _taken_ down. A quick inspection showed that the twenty warforms were pretty much obliterated, their forms twisted and destroyed. Whatever had hit them, had hit them hard and ugly. Good. He didn't see any sign of the cunt, the slut, or the spikes, but he doubted it was too much to ask to spy their bodies or hope that they were dead.

Meer quietly made his way towards the platform, checking every corner, nook, and cranny for any surviving Geth. He walked by the bodies (if they could be called that) of the destroyed Geth, not wanting to chance that any of them might still be operational as he saw something that made him grimace.

He had found the cunt and the others quickly enough.

* * *

"YOU STUPID FUCKING JACKASS!"

Commander Mark Meer probably shouldn't have returned.

The Naval Commander found himself being stared down by the cunt, _Commander_ Hale, as she glared at him with furious blue eyes, her hands on her hips as her face practically glowed beet red with anger. The spike, Saren Arterius, was glaring at him as well, his arms folded across his chest, his left mandible flickering, like a psychotic twitch. The other spike, Nihlus Kryik, was sitting down on a crate, polishing his Specter Gear HMWAR VII Assault Rifle with some random cloth, looking right at him, almost like a lion looking at a deer. The slut, Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams, had her arms folded underneath her armored tits, standing with one leg back, her hip cocked, and her eyes hooded and angry.

"CARE TO FUCKING EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"

"You said 'scatter'!" Meer replied, spreading his hands apart, stating the obvious. "I wasn't expecting to scatter to an inferior position with next to no cover within grenade distance of a vastly numerically superior force! I thought you meant the hill that was within sprinting distance, taking the high ground and sniping the Geth from an advantage!" Seriously, did he need to draw it with a crayon for these morons?

"That I would get... if you had come back within the next five minutes!" The cunt forced out through spittled lips, breathing hard. "I get that you're not a Marine, that you're more use to leading from a shuttle or a ship as you are Navy. But watching your ass _run the fuck away_ and come sauntering back almost two hours later is called _desertion!_ " Her blue eyes were boring into his, and to his surprise, she started to shake her head as her anger died, her stance changing from one of aggression to that of... exhaustion. She took several steps forward, until she was but a few feet in front of him, and... _talked_ to him.

"Mark... I know what to do with this, but it's not the route I want to take." The cunt said softly, looking at him sadly, no longer some cunt flipping her shit. "I get it that we don't like each other, but you're a Commissioned Officer in the Alliance Navy. You provide the example that younger Officers and Enlisted Members both want and need. Hell, you've inspired people to join! To be like you, the fucking Dragonslayer!" Hmm, that was actually a pretty good name. That was the second time she called him that, Meer thought to himself, and it fit pretty good. _The Dragonslayer of Akuze... definitely better than 'Hero of Akuze' or 'Sole Survivor of Akuze'_! "I'm looking away from this because you do have a point; I expected you to act like one of my Marines, to be one of my Marines, and you're not. I brought you here because I thought you were tactically sound on the ground, but I was incorrect, and I'm sorry for putting you in greater danger than was necessary." Wai... _what?_ "You are a hell of a Sailor, Mark; even I know that and acknowledge it. Throwing you into battle like that... that was stupid and thoughtless of me. I apologize."

Did... did the cunt just call him... _incompetent?_

"You... stupid... fucking... _whore!_ " Meer screamed, surprising the cunt as her head rocked back slightly and eyes widened, obviously unexpected. "You think I'm incompetent on the ground? You've been trying to get us killed since day one!" He had the self-satisfaction of watching the cunt's mouth drop open. "Going into stealth to sneak up on Pinnacle Station, the second-largest defense station in the Alliance? XO'ing a warship when you have no fucking clue what you are doing or how to do it? Tackling a Geth Army with a couple dozen men, a MAKO and a Shuttle? It's one dumbass decision after another with you, and it's been going that way for years! Running your mouth off at the Board! Too eager to save slaves than to use your brain on Torfan, getting most of your men killed!" The slut in the pink-and-white armor gasped at that one, but Meer wasn't done. "That's the way it's always been with you! Hit the ground running with no thought of the people around you or the consequences! Just like the SPECTRE candidacy!" The slut gasped again, but the Naval Commander didn't give a shit. "Here you are, running around like a monkey with a banana, trying to impress everyone just because you don't play with your own shit like the rest of the other monkeys, looking and acting like a traitor! Because that's what they'll see! Humanity doesn't want a SPECTRE; it wants sovereignty! We want to pull away from the aliens, and you're _throwing_ yourself at them! Who do you think is going to last five minutes before someone puts a sniper round through their skull, and who do you think will come out looking like King Shit?"

Light was louder than the area of the dock.

"Oh! Mindoir sucked! Boo _fucking_ hoo!" Meer sneered at the cunt. "At least you got to know your fucking parents; mine tossed me into a hospital waiting room and split. Orphanage after orphanage of getting beaten, raped, and sodomised by gangs in Eddie-Town, but you don't see me waging war on Alberta, do you? Everything that I am, I _earned!_ I didn't have someone fucking bitch holding my hand and telling me everything was going to be alright! I didn't have someone to wipe away my tears and pat me on the head and tell me to be strong! I learned the hard way! I fought my way to the top just to watch _you_ and your bitch of a sister absolutely _shit_ on me because you have full-fledged Alliance educations and sponsorships while I had to earn mine through theft, bribery, extortion, and running because I was not going to live in that shithole any longer." Hale just stared at him, her mouth no longer dropped open, but the cunt looked... conflicted, confused. "I spent four years busting my _ass_ getting into the Naval Academy and then another four years busting my ass in it. And what did it get me? Showed up by a self-righteous bitch who could breeze through everything with her eyes closed, and a fucking cunt that everyone felt sorry for! Yeah, I wanted to be on top; I started with nothing, but I knew I could prove myself. I don't mind losing to someone better than me, but I never stood a chance the way our Academy Instructors would gush over Cadet Jane fucking Shepard and cry over Cadet Jennifer fucking Hale. The rest of us didn't even get the fucking time of day compared to you two. Did it ever occur to you that there were others who wanted it just as bad, had it worse, suffered more, but got the glass ceiling? Remember Cadet Emilo Estevan?"

"I... yes, yes I do." Hale answered quietly, her tone neutral.

"Know what he went through?" Meer snarled, and the cunt slowly shook her head. "Of course not, because you were too fucking selfish to ever see or ask. He joined because he was from Yandoa, where that shuttle exploded and dusted half the fucking town." The Commander explained, and the N7 was obviously surprised by the information. "Somehow, he didn't die from it, but his mother was pregnant at the time with his baby sister. Oh, sure, you hear about Biotic children being born from _in utero_ exposure of Eezo, but that's only five percent of the population. Know what happens to sixty percent of them? _Cancer_."

"I... I didn't know." Hale replied numbly.

"Of course you didn't. You never thought to ask." Meer snorted. "Estevan joined so his cancer-riddled sister would have free health care since their mother had died after the birth, from multiple tumors. He spent three years in the Naval Academy, working his ass off so his sister could have some normal semblance of a life. Of course, you never heard him say anything about sending his money to his father so he and his sister could live a little more comfortably on Tiptree. Not one word of complaint as he went weeks at a time before he could call home, hearing about how his sisters' condition was doing, which was generally between 'not good' and 'surgery'. Graduated fourth in his class! Fourth! You would think he would be so proud of himself... except that his sister had died a few months before, didn't even live long enough to see him graduate. Fourteen years of cancer, tumors, radiation treatment and therapy, chemo, surgeries, all to live to the ripe old age of fourteen." Meer stopped to breath, venting his anger and rage. "Not one word of complaint, not even when he missed his sisters' funeral so he could take the finals to graduate."

"What are you trying to tell me, Mark? That my fucking horrible life is some obstacle to you?" The cunt asked, her tone seething. "Gee, I'm sorry I survived my entire colony being _enslaved_ by Batarians... and Turians... and human fucking beings. I'm sorry that every time I go to sleep, I get to relive watching my father get his brains blown out because he tried saving his family, watched my brother gurgle his last breaths because a Turian slashed his throat out with one of his talons, and watched my mother get raped _repeatedly_ by the seven humans that were there, and then put a bullet in her _liver_ when they were done with her, letting her suffer for fifteen agonizing minutes before she finally died." Meer found himself without words. "I'm sorry that I was laid out on the fucking ground, raped, tortured, branded, and bleeding to death, surrounded by my dead family and flies. I didn't realize that would be such an inconvenience to you and everyone else, living for four days with three bullets in my _stomach_ because they didn't want me to die immediately, and the one fucker who put a round in my chest because I was, and I quote, just _dead weight_! You don't see me wishing you had died or gone fucking nuts in Edmonton, never to bother me, do you?

"No, Mark," The cunt continued her own rant, "you are, quite simply, a piss-poor human being. You sound like you had a shit childhood that I do feel sorry for, but that doesn't make me wish the worst for you. You pushed yourself out of all that just like I did, and that's something to be proud of. But instead of being something of an inspiration, you're just a hate-filled man who sees fault in everything else _but_ himself, blaming everything _but_ himself. I got the best grades because while you and the boys partied and drank, I studied my ass off because I didn't have much of an education being a farmers' daughter on Mindoir, and had a lot of catching up to do. I got those accolades because I pushed myself harder and harder while Cadets like yourself and Townsend and Woolley strutted around like you were God's gift to the fucking Alliance, treating women like they were walking wet holes for your cocks but otherwise not worth your time. I didn't go out drinking, didn't go out doing stupid shit, and didn't go out fucking. Friday nights, ten o'clock at night? My nose was buried in a book, working on a computer, or my ass was out on a civilian shooting range, honing myself. I used every nightmare and fear I had to remind myself why I did what I did. You think our Academy Instructors felt sorry for me? I logged more time in the Academy Library than _everyone else_ , spent more time being tutored than _everyone else_ , took more classes than _everyone else_. All those grades I got, all those awards I got? I earned every _fucking_ one of them, you self-righteous prick. Man the fuck up and realize that I took it more seriously than _you_."

Meer lost it.

He couldn't even say why he did it; looking back, it was completely out of his norm to do what he did. It was almost like watching a vid of himself in slow-motion, his hands coming up and pushing Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale backwards, hard. The cunt hadn't been expecting it as she stumbled back a few feet... and tripped over a cylindrical bomb-like device that had been laying on the ground, otherwise untouched. The N7 Marine fell down backwards, hitting the ground with a thud as she let off a 'omph!'. Meer felt superior as he saw the cunt sprawled out on the ground on her back for a second... but the good feeling died away quickly when she flung herself back on her feet in a flipping motion, rotating her body upward onto her shoulders and catapulting herself upward on her feet like a fucking ninja.

No two ways about it; he had just assaulted a superior Officer.

Hale's face was an ugly, ugly red as her hand dived for the N7 Eagle at her side... and froze there as he watched her eyes widen with horror. She was suddenly smashed into the ground face first... and _dragged_ backwards by some invisible force, rapidly pulled back and then up into the air. Meer couldn't believe what he was seeing as he watched her hover in the air for a second in front of the Prothean Beacon on the dock as the 50,000 year old object 'thrumb'ed to life, glowing brighter with pulsing yellow energy that surrounded and suffused the cunt as she began to scream in pain. The Device grew brighter and brighter, brighter than Sol as Hales' screams grew louder and more frantic. Mark couldn't even look from the intensity of the energy being thrown off by the Prothean Device.

It exploded ten seconds later.

* * *

Commander Mark Meer woke up on his back, staring into Eden Prime's sky.

He blinked rapidly, the glowing corona of a light purple smudge centering on his vision as he looked as a result of the glowing intensity of the activated Prothean Data Beacon, and he began to recall what happened. The explosion had thrown them all, and he had hit a nearby crate, knocking him out. His Omnigel Armor Plates had been shattered by the force of the explosion and his subsequent landing into a metal crate. He felt like his body was one large bruise, and getting up immediately made him regret the action. Something felt broken, probably a rib. He sat up, groaning, clutching at his left side as he scooted back to where his back was resting against the crate he had slammed against, the support relieving him of some of pressure and pain that he was experiencing. It had been a long time since he broke a bone... thirteen years, in fact.

Meer finally sat up and looked around at the local devastation that the Beacon had wrought.

The Commander's eyes first went to his so-called contemporaries, seeing four figures lying on the ground, in various positions and in various states. Nihlus Kyrik was laying on his side, the spike's eyes open but unresponsive as his mandibles twitched and his body moved slowly, as if his brain and his body were stuck in a lower gear and not quite getting up to full speed. The slut, Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams, was face first on the ground near a small container, slowly pushing herself upward while groaning, her arms visibly trembling as she got onto her hands and knees, retching onto the ground before her. The other spike, Saren Arterius, was on his back, groaning, sprawled out with limbs splayed as he tried to pull himself together, limbs jerking and twitching slightly.

The cunt laid a few feet before him, spasming and convulsing, as if she were in the middle of an epileptic seizure.

"Colonel? Colonel!" The slut called out, looking over to the Marine as she flopped and flailed on the ground, the Colonial Soldier stumbling over towards the N7, the concern obvious on the sluts' face. Meer watched as the pink-and-white armored woman went to the cunt's side, pulling off an armored gauntlet and placing her fingers to the side of the convulsing womans' neck, checking her pulse. Williams then opened up her Omnitool, searched for a program, and found some basic medical scanning software, and began waving it over Hale's twitching body for a moment, scanning her from head to toe. Whatever the slut saw had her frantic. _"Normandy? Normandy?_ SSV _Normandy_ , this is Staff Sergeant Williams of the Eden Prime 212!" The slut called out on her radio, placing two fingers on her ear communicator in her left ear with her right hand while her left hand still scanned the cunt with her Omnitool. "Request immediate CASEVAC for Colonel Hale! The Beacon just lit up like a Christmas tress, did something to her, and exploded! Her vitals are all over the place, her heart rate, BP, and resp rates are dropping rapidly, and she's seizing! I... I think she's going to die right in front of me, and _I have no fucking idea what to do!_ "

Mark almost smiled to himself until he felt the barrel of a Specter Gear Assault Rifle pressing against the side of his head.

"She dies?" Saren Arterius growled through his injured mouth, sputtering and pained as Meer looked into those grey eyes of his and saw _rage_. "You die. _Slowly_."

Commander Mark Meer found himself praying for the sight of the Ohio-Class Frigate.

* * *

A/N: Yes, you can run half a kilometer in a minute. That is about 19 mph sprint/dead run, which is possible for a substantially dedicated runners. I've cleared 500m in 60 secs, and this is not even close to any kind of record. Think its impossible? Find a nearby football field, and sprint it from fieldgoal to fieldgoal three times a day, every day, for a month. And I mean sprint, like someone's chasing your ass with a chainsaw kind of sprint. I got up to three football fields per session, three sessions a day. That's 900 yards (990 meters).

For those who have never lived in a civilian warzone (like, say, Detroit, LA, St. Louis, or DC) you can hear gunshots a goodly distance away. For those who called some Middle Eastern city home for a year or less, you know that machine gun fire and intense fire fights can be heard for quite a ways.

Yes, Commander Mark Meer rationalizes his flaws as facts. Don't we all?

Commander Mark Meer again mentions being born in 'Eddie-town', which is Edmonton, Alberta. This is the actual birth place of real life voice actor Mark Meer. They even share the same birthday; May 17. The Alliance Office of Personnel Records show that Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Roselyn Hale was born in Goose Bay, Newfoundland, on January 30. What a coincidence! Jennifer R. Hale, voice actor, was also born in Goose Bay, Newfoundland, Canada, on January 30!

No one in my universe is dumb enough to walk into a 50,000 year old technological relic. Instead, they have shoving matches. Finally popped the cork.

How many really wish to see Saren pull that trigger? So tempting...


	29. Chakwas: MASCAL

**Chakwas: Surgery**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

Chapter 27: Chakwas, MASCAL

SSV _Normandy_ , Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, April 2, 2183 1402 Constant Time Zone

Commander Karin Chakwas (M.D.) adjusted the pressure dressing on Corporal Hans Grubbs' arm, making sure that the Medigel she injected on-site covered the entirety of the wound before placing the pressure dressing to keep it sterile and free of contamination before placing an Omnigel sheath as a seal, placing a VI-monitoring chip that was linked to the SSV _Normandys'_ Med Bay monitoring devices to keep tabs on infection rates, blood volume, tissue necrosis, and white blood cell count. With that done, Colonel Chakwas slowly removed the tourniquet that was purposefully cutting the circulation from Grubbs' right arm, placed above his bicep, just a couple of inches above the gunshot wound. She kept a critical eye on both the wound and the nearby monitoring screen about Grubbs' chair, seeing if his dressing held. The Marine Corporal nodded to her as he popped out of the chair when she gave him the okay, and was replaced by Private First Class Samantha McLyman, who was clutching at her side, a gunshot wound just above her left hip.

 _"Commander Chakwas? Captain Anderson."_ The Med Bay's intercom spoke up, causing her to look over to the speaker. _"We're a mike from approaching the dock... and we just got word that Colonel Hale has been hit by an explosion."_ The Surgeon felt her heart stop at the declaration as McLyman looked at her with widened eyes. " _We need you in the cargo bay for emergency trauma recovery. It sounds bad... vital signs are dropping rapidly."_

"On my way." The Surgeon replied, looking over to Corpsman, Second Class Lynda Basheer. "Corpsman? Continue treatment on Private McLyman while I am gone, and make sure that the trauma bed is prepped and ready." To that, the Corpsman nodded as Colonel Chakwas grabbed her mobile KitBag, the ten kilo bag meant for the Corpsmen who deployed with the Marines, but working just as well for anything for incidences that couldn't be made back to the Med Bay, or when there wasn't time to make the trip. She forwent the trip to the _Normandy's_ elevator, the contraption too slow as she went to the service ladder next to the elevator, slinging the KitBag on her back as she mounted herself on the ladder, using the inside of her Alliance-issued boots and her hands to slide down to the lower deck as a much faster pace then climbing down the ladder or using the rediculously slow elevator. She found herself on the Cargo Bay deck within seconds as she turned towards the ramp as it dropped open, exposing the Cargo Bay to the environment of Eden Prime. Despite being what she liked to call 'a young lady with years of wisdom added', the Surgeon kept in shape along with the Marines, so had no issues sprinting down the Cargo Bay and onto the dock of the Constant Spaceport of Eden Prime where she could see two Turian Counsel Observers and a Colonial Army Soldier she had never seen before kneeling beside the body of a helmetless Marine lying on the ground, shaking and spasming.

"Move!" The Doctor shouted, scattering the Turians and the Soldier as she set the KitBag down while getting on her knees beside Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale, seeing just how pale the Marine was, still spasming and twitching. Karin opened up the medical sustainment bag and pulled out from one of the pouches an auto-injector preloaded with .3ml of synthesized Adrenal Epinephrine, taking the hypodemic needle gun and placing the base of it into the jugular vein of the N7. As soon as the auto-injector's micro-VI acknowledged that the auto-injector was being used for medicinal purposes and not an accidental stick, 10 cc's of saline and .3ml of adrenaline were shot into Colonel Hale's bloodstream in less than a second. The reaction took a good three seconds for take effect, but the results were satisfactory; color began returning to the Marines' face as the convulsions reduced significantly, turning into the more normal reaction of minute tremors in the lower extremities of the fingers and feet from a dose of Epinephrine. Keying her Medical Diagnostic Tool on her left arm, Commander Chakwas began scanning the Colonel's life signs and brain activities, as well as searching for any other injuries besides the obvious gunshot wound that she had in her right side. Blood pressure was returning to normal, heart rate was half again faster than normal, but that was to be expected. Blood volume was a bit on the low side; Hale had lost a pint, but that wasn't bad in itself. What did have her pursing her lips was the fact that the N7 had been shot very close by her kidney, having slightly ruptured the organ. Blood toxicity was on the rise, which probably accounted for the blood pressure, the heart rate, loss of color, and convulsions, all indicative of Acute Kidney Injury. The brain activity was interesting though. Despite that the Marine was unconscious, her alpha brain wave patterns were twice the intensity of a normal humans... which occurred during Grand Mal Seizures. Hale wasn't epileptic... but a Grand Mal Seizure could cause brain tissue damage and send a patient into a vegetative state; comatose. There was nothing she could do... on the ground.

"I need a hoverstretcher." The Commander announced, looking to the SPECTREs that hovered over her. " _NOW!_ " Saren Arterius, much to her surprise, didn't even bother, scooping up the human Marine in his talons as if she weren't a sixty-eight kilogram woman wearing twenty kilograms of armor and armed with what looked to be twenty-five kilograms worth of weaponry. The Turian turn and bolted straight up the _Normandy's_ deployment ramp at a speed that astonished the Surgeon as she grabbed the KitBag and struggled to keep up, and she was by no means a slow woman. "Right side of the elevator is a service ladder! Don't bother with that slow infernal contraption!" Her cockney accent flaired as the medical Commander raced through the Frigate's Cargo Bay, chasing Saren as the Turian began climbing the ladder with Hale over his shoulder, surprising Chakwas with his ability to scale the ladder at a speed not possible for a human being. The Surgeon did her best to be right on the Observers' spurs as she climbed as well, seeing that the Turian was already in the Med Bay before she reached the Gun Deck of the Normandy.

"That bed!" Karin pointed out one of four trauma beds available to the _Normandy_ to the Palavenian, the one she indicated being the stasis bed; it was reserved for the worst of conditions. Saren complied, laying Hale gently on the bed as the Commander immediately closed the lid of the bed over the Lieutenant Commander, activating the stasis field that would almost halt all biological processes, buying patient and Doctor time. "Saren, sit there until you can be seen." Karin didn't even look to see if the Turian complied with her order as she focused on Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale, the stasis bed providing a holographic display of the Marine's body by system; circulatory, skeletal, musculature, endocrine, nervous... seperating them horizontally as the Surgeon checked each for any other additional injuries that she might not have noticed in the first place. She had seen Colonel Hale's medical record, but hadn't done a baseline check-up on the _Normandy's_ XO; that was a mistake best left blaming herself for at another time. The sight of old injuries, breaks, heals, gunshot wounds, and several corrective splints, screws, and one replaced pancreas had the Surgeon sighing, seeing a body tortured by war. Putting on a pair of anti-stasis gloves, she activated the stasis bed's anti-gravity program, lifting Colonel Hale's body a foot and a half in the air as she slipped her hands into the stasis field of the bed, her eyes looking at the various systems of her patient.

"Basheer? Treat Counsel Observer Arterius and any other casualties that come in as I work on the XO." The Corpsman's face twitched as she looked over to the Turian Counsel Observer, undoubtedly not happy with the thought of working on an alien. Karin glared at the Corpsman, Second Class until the Sailor got the hint and moved over to the Observer... not that anyone was fooled by the 'cover'. SPECTREs... they had two of them on the _Normandy_ for a few weeks now, and the Surgeon didn't need a Navigator to tell her _that_ particular course direction. The way Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik hung about Colonel Hale, her recent promotion as well as being a Marine while as an XO on a state-of-the-art stealth Frigate... Karin knew that she was working upon the woman who would undoubtedly be Humanity's First SPECTRE. She knew Jennifer Hale by reputation only, a fierce and impressive reputation that scared the shit out of Batarians and slavers. Chakwas quite approved; it might have been her job to heal, but she wouldn't shed one tear if some scumbag found himself on the wrong side of the gun of the Butcher of Torfan. Her anti-stasis gloves began peeling off pieces of Onyx Armor off of Hale's body, and a pair of medical laser sissors cut though the Marine's CATsuit in a matter of seconds, exposing the Lieutenant Colonel's body as she peeled off the black ballistic cloth. The sight of so many old wounds, some from battle, others sadly not, had the older woman sighing in resignation. _What a price you pay for our sakes, Colonel._ Chakwas thought to herself as she looked at the body of the woman that floated in front of her. _Were we ever so devoted as you, those of us who swore to be humanity's sword and shield? Could you be the epitome of what we sought to do so many years ago? If so or not, you deserve more, deserve better, Jennifer Hale. At the very least, I shall remember my Oath as a Doctor before I ever consider my other Oath from so long ago on Shanxi._

"Time to go to work." Karin whispered to herself a she picked up a portable ionizer, meant to disinfect wounds as she started to perform her job on the woman who may just indeed restore balance for humanity.

Surgery had taken three hours.

Commander Karin Chakwas sat in her rolling chair, feeling spent and drained as she ate a quick meal of military rations that one of the Marines had gotten for her after finishing work on Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale. The surviving Marines, to include Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo and Eden Prime Colonial Army Staff Sergeant Ashely Williams, had been waiting in the mess deck for word on the N7. Captain David Anderson had announced to the entire ship that their XO's surgery had been a success, and that she was expected to make a full recovery, to the cheers of the crew of the _Normandy_. The Ohio-Class Frigate had left the Utopia System only an hour before, Second Fleet having arrived in the Utopia system sometime around 1400 Zulu. The _Normandy_ hadn't flew off FTL while Chakwas was performing surgery, FTL not always being the smoothest of rides, and the surgery a delicate thing.

Lieutenant Colonel Hale was still unconscious.

The door to the Med Bay opened, and Commander Chakwas turned to see Captain Anderson coming into the room, scanning to see that there were only three people in the room; himself, Karin, and the unconscious form of Colonel Hale. He closed the door behind him, sliding it with a hiss as he punched a quick code that locked it from anyone wishing to unobtrusively walk in. Anderson took a spare seat as he took a glance at Hale, who was now occupying one of the recovery tables, monitors displaying her vitals as she slept.

"How is she?" Anderson asked, his elbows on his knees, looking ten years older, Karin noted as she spooned more Beef Stew. "Honestly?"

"Honestly, she's damn lucky, David." The Surgeon replied, swallowing her stew first. "She had been shot in the kidney, and whatever that Beacon did brought her body into both shock and seizures. Touch-and-go for a minute there, but I repaired the damage with stem cells, Artificial Phlesh, and quite a good deal of sutures. She should be on her feet in two days time, and combat-ready in five."

"Good." Anderson smile, a smile of tired relief. "I promised Jannie that I would look out after Jen. Almost losing her like this... breaks an old man's heart." Karin _hmm'ed_ at the memory of Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard, whom she had served with back on the Cruiser-Class SSV _Tokyo_ approximately six years ago. Then-Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard had been the XO for the _Tokyo_ , with Captain Anderson commanding, the Lion of Elysium's star rising fast and bright. She had liked Jane; most who had ever met the the woman born on the SSV _Everest_ did. She knew of Anderson's relationship with the Lion, which made her unknown whereabouts all the much harder on the Black Fox. "Eden Prime... that was a hell of a thing. Geth. Exploding Beacons... Nihlus Kryik told me that Jannie was spotted by Saren on Eden Prime... shot him."

"Commander Shepard was on Eden Prime?" Karin was more than a little surprised; the Lion had been missing for four years. Being spotted in the middle of a Geth Invasion... that didn't sound good. Especially if a SPECTRE claimed to have been shot by her. "You hadn't heard anything? Not one message?"

"Nothing. Nor did Jen." Anderson sighed, rubbing at the short hair on his head, clearly troubled. "Saren and Nihlus are reporting to the Counsel as we speak about event that occurred on Eden Prime. They... are leaving out the part about Jane until they can investigate it further. They don't wish to possibly destroy her reputation on the off-chance that it was some look-alike or something different."

"That's good. We certainly haven't heard word of her through our connections." The Surgeon replied, David nodding slowly. "She disappeared on all of us, David. If she had somehow resurfaced, I would have thought she would at least contact you, if not the Minister."

"Nothing." Anderson repeated, slowly shaking his head. "I've... been skipping out on Church." His eyes went to the woman on the recovery table, who laid there peacefully. "Karin... that woman right there is going to be Humanity's First SPECTRE. Probably in the next week, whenever we reach the Citadel. You know what that means? For humanity? For us?"

"I can only guess." The Surgeon looked to Hale, who was blissfully unconscious, unaware of their conversation. "Has word been sent to the Minister?"

"Yes. Both myself and Captain Shepard." The Black Fox replied, nodding his head. "John knows and understands what I'm trying to do. Hale is going to need people she can count on, who will be there for her... without agenda. _She_ cannot afford to have those such as ourselves dragging her down, not when we're seeing the first signs of success for all that we've wished for and hope for all those years ago, Karin. Laying right there on that bed is our first step towards balance, towards our salvation. John... has given me leave to do what I think is necessary, with his blessing. Can I count on you to walk the same path as I?"

"I... yes." The Commander finally replied, looking at her old friend, giving him a short nod of her head. "We built up so much on the hopes of leveling the playing field, and I fear that all it did was lead to our own demise, dragging humanity into a worse position than what it was before. I can only imagine what the Corporation may be doing. I somehow doubt they will aid her."

"Very unlikely." Anderson snorted, snaking his head. "I'm pretty sure that both Saren and Nihlus believe Meer to be a member of Cerberus." That had Karin chuckle slightly. "He was a SPECTRE candidate as well, but they monitored him and picked up on things that denied him the opportunity. That means Meer is the Corporations' animal. Be careful around that one." That was good advice. "If he's Corporate, and he's on the same vessel as Jen is, you know he will do whatever it takes to ruin her. According to Kryik and Williams, the Soldier we picked up on Eden Prime, he _pushed_ Hale into the Prothean Beacon, causing it to activate and explode. She's very lucky to be alive, as well as in your capable hands."

"Perhaps a little 'accident' can be arrainged for the so-called 'Hero of Akuze'." Chakwas offered, but got an immediate no from the Black Fox for that idea.

"Corporate will know, and I'd rather know who we'll need to look out for as oppose to guessing. Meer's the only one I can be sure is working for the Corporation, but there is undoubtedly several others who are on this very ship, answering to him." Anderson explained, and the thought made the Surgeons' blood run cold. Thinking there might be Corporation members on a ship and knowing there are Corporation members was a very serious distinction. She was thinking about seeing Corpsman, Second Class Lyna Basheer on the Surgeons' personal terminal, seemingly looking through medical files. For what reasons, Karin was almost afraid to find out.

"You are right, David. She is going to need friends. The right _kind_ of friends." The Commander said finally, looking to the figure that slept in the recovery bed, and gave a small smile. "You can count on me to be one of those."

"Good." The Black Fox smiled. "Go with God, Karin."

"And may you walk by His side."

A/N: MASCAL, the title of this chapter, is another military term, meaning 'Mass Casualties'; a nice way of saying there's a shit load of patients.

Doctors in Military Service have a rank, ranging from Physicians' Assistants (generally Ensigns and Lieutenants) all the way to Surgeons (Captains, Majors, Colonels, Lieutenant Commanders, Commanders, and Captains). Yes, we call them 'Doctors', but we call them by their rank as well. In this story, Helen Chakewas is a Naval Surgeon with the Rank of Commander as all medical personnel Marines use are from the Navy, and the _Normandy_ is a Naval Vessel.

I know that in the Mass Effect Universe, that Medigel somehow ended up being the be-all, end-all of medical medicines. This simply can't be possible, so I made it a trauma application, a mixture of part blood-clotter, part antiseptic, part antibiotic, and part temporary adhesive, along with a mild sedative and pain-killer. This is basically several different pieces of medical applications in trauma bags that Army Medics and (I assume) Navy Corpsmen carried into combat, eliminating the need of several different medical components, as well as saving some time using one product instead of four to five. This would also be used for MedPouches, AidBags, and CLS Kits. I might make a MedKit that actually has IV's, tourniquets, and a variety of other components that would be needed for field trauma, as well as the Med Bays. Medigel is simply a field-expediant temporary measure to stop an injury from being worse, a victim bleeding out, and possibly getting a Service Member back on his or her feet. It's better than using tampons (and God bless the person who figured out that trick for a GSW).

Having been trained in Combat Life Saver and actually serving as a Platoon Medic for several months (despite that I was not a Medic, but a Cavalry Scout), I tried to keep the medical part of this chapter as accurate as possible. Epinephrine, Acute Kidney Disease, and Grand Mal Seizures are all real, as were the doses, damages, effects, and treatments.


	30. Hale: Warpath

**DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 28: Hale, Warpath

Jev'nor, Utopia II, Utopia System, Exodus Cluster, Krentor 38, 6482 Imperial Calender 1043 Jev'nor Time Zone

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale ducked a blast from a beam of ion-driven particles as she raised her Particle Rifle to her shoulder and took aim at the Exchanged, firing a torrent of hypercharged protons through her weapons' particle accelerator, the direct energy weapon sending a stream of death into the Exchanged's chest for two seconds, creating an electrostatic discharge that violently detonated the former Race member, before it had been forcibly Exchanged by their enemies. Several more ion beams lanced through the air as Jen gritted her fangs, bounding over her rocky cover and reaching for the Corefire that burned within her, building it up and sending a glob of sickening green energy towards one of the Exchanged. The creature cried out in pain as the Corefire began to destabilize its molecular structure, an intense agony in which had the Lieutenant Colonel smile as she aimed her Rifle once more, and fired another beam at the inflicted Exchanged. It detonated almost immediately as the Corefire laced through the area, infecting its two comrades.

"Hovak! Jetal! Karmav! Sweep the northern pathway for any Exchanged!" Hale shouted, pointing the longest of her three fingers of her left hand towards the roadway that was lined with buildings that were once meant for commerce, but had been utilized for cover and protection as the war came to Utopia II. Three male members of the Race nodded their compliance as they readied their Particle Rifles and began to scout north, their four eyes constantly moving for any signs of the converted creatures that had begun the invasion only hours before. Hale snorted as she wiped at some of the dust residue that had sprinkled onto her skull carapace, and then proceeded to clean out the sockets of each of her four eyes for any foreign debris. Cracking her neck, she turned to look at the remaining members of her Hunt, a mixture of males and females not only from the Race, but also Chamdians, Lor'quins, and Rachni. Hale pointed out a clutch of insectoid Rachni, and motioned for them to take the lead. The multi-limbed creatures screeched and skittered as a dozen of them moved forward, their prehensile appendages raising in readiness to strike as Hale moved in behind them towards their objective.

All that mattered was the Message.

" _Praetor! We've got incoming from space!"_ Came the voice of Jetal over the communicator. Hale gritted her fangs once more as she looked up, all four of her eyes focusing up towards the skies of Utopia II, her vision telescopically increasing until she saw what Jetal had seen. She sneered at the sight of black leaves falling from the skies.

The Kin had come to Utopia II.

"Warriors! Ready yourself to bring the fight to the enemy!" Hale shouted as one of the Rachni shrieked in pain as an Exchanged Lor'quin tackled the insectoid creature, the once-humanoid Lor'quin now sadly a grizzled mess of circuitry and horror as razor-like protrusions extending from its forearms tore into the Rachni as the insectoid creatures' appendages ripped and tore into the Exchange quicker than Hale could take aim. The intense fight was over in a second, the Exchanged Lor'quin seared and damaged on the ground, the Rachni screaming in triumph as its acidic blood sizzled through corrupted flesh. "Move forward! We have an objective to complete!" Hale reminded her Hunt, baring her fangs as she saw what appeared to be dozens of Exchanged racing down the pathway towards them, one of them swelling with sickening yellow energy as it floated into the air, almost appearing to grow in size and density.

" **WE ARE THE VANGUARD OF YOUR DEMISE.** " The now-possessed Exemplar cried out from among its corrupted kin as Exchanged from the seven races of the Empire charged towards them. Hale screamed defiance as her Particle Rifle shot out its streams of death at an approaching Exchanged, several beams striking a few targets at once, causing them to burst faster. The resulting detonations scattered the charge, slowing it down as more hypercharge photons took out their kin, killing horrors created by the Kin to wipe out all life and civilization.

"For the Empire!" Hale screamed in defiance, detonating another Exchanged, and then another, until all that was left was the Exemplar. The possessed form of the Race gathered dark, sinister energy in its three-fingered hands as Hale dove for the nearest cover, rolling behind the wall of a mostly collapsed building as it launched the orb at her Hunt as they scattered, creating a violent flaring explosion as it struck the ground. The Lieutenant Colonel was bodily thrown further away, her _karuta tatami_ armor cracking from the force. Getting up to her feet slowly, she inspected herself for any injuries, grunting at the sight of her cracked armor, resigning herself to having to deal with it, as there was no way she could repair it under fire. The Exemplar moved towards the alley she was in, and Hale ducked into an opened doorway of a half-collapsed building before a crushing orb of energy slammed into her. She moved back and fired her Particle Rifle at the Exemplar, the beam striking its chest for four seconds, the glowing abomination simply shrugging it off.

" **THERE IS NO VICTORY IN WHAT YOU HAVE WROUGHT.** " The Exemplar charged forward, yellow energy swirling off its speeding frame as it slammed into Hale, tossing her meters down the alley, skidding across the broken, rubble-filled path. She fought off crying out in pain as she fired her Particle Rifle at the creature, not even bothering to get up as the beam of energy impaled itself into the Kin-controlled Exemplar, the highest combat form of the Kin. Ten seconds of firing into the possessed creature didn't have it detonate as it lurched towards her, shrugging off the hypercharged protons. Her weapon shut off as she went through the entirety of her proton fuel cell, and Jen let off a curse as she pulled out the empty cell, tossing it aside as she inserted a new one into her Particle Rifle, having to wait five seconds for the particle accelerator to build enough of a charge to fire.

There wasn't enough time.

The Exemplar grabbed her by the throat and slammed Hale into a wall, hoisting her in the air as it pressed her into the duracrete wall of some building, choking her as Hale pressed the barrel of her Particle Rifle into the face of the Exemplar as her weapon chimed its activation, indicating that it was ready.

"To the Warp with you, foul creature!" Hale spat defiance as she bared her fangs and shot the creature at point-blank range in its face, incinerating its features, melting what was once the face of one of the Race. The head was pulverized into oblivion as the possessed Exemplar shuddered and fell, dropping Hale as she landed on her feet, seeing the Exchanged sear itself, flaking away into so much ash and dust. "It seems I've wrought a victory, creature." Checking to see how much proton fuel she had in her cell, Lieutenant Colonel Hale moved further down the alleyway towards her objective.

She could only hope she would succeed.

* * *

Utopia slowly slid towards the horizon as Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale reached her objective; the Intergalactic Communications Hub. She had been fighting for hours, scrounging for ammunition off of expired members of the Race, her Particle Rifle having been destroyed some time ago. She was now armed with a Chamdians' High-Intensity Molecular Assault Rifle, the HIMAR smaller than her Particle Rifle, and not nearly as powerful. Thankfully, it pulled molecules from the very air and spun them through the particle acceleration chamber of the weapon, spitting out a stream of destabilized molecules at about half the speed of light, impacting and vaporizing molecular bonds of whatever it struck, earning itself the name 'Stripper'. Hale took a certain sadistic pleasure in watching the weapon peel off flesh and tissue whenever she poured its fury by pulling the trigger.

But for now, she had an objective to meet up with, a mission to complete.

Hale limped and pushed her way to the Hub, grateful to see that it hadn't been destroyed or tampered with. She had pushed through the capital city of Jev'nor, fighting down pathways and thoroughfares, skirting collapse buildings, either hiding from Exchanged, or ambushing them. At one point in time she had been chased by another Exemplar, this one thankfully not possessed, easier to kill. She made sure to give the Kin a wide berth, those towers of destruction walking about, spewing their magnetic slurry through the means of a mass tunnel against anything they came into contact with. Hale knew better than to fight those things.

The objective was all that mattered.

The Hub sat in a small plaza, only a few bodies of the lesser species who had defended it evident, beaten and torn apart. Hale cleared the area, letting the Stripper scan her surroundings until she was satisfied that the area was clear of hostile intent. With no enemies in sight, Hale turned her four-eyed gaze towards the Hub, seeing that there was still power to the Hub, the device still activated. _Good, I can still complete my mission_ , Jen thought to herself as she approached the intergalactic communications device, opening up the user interface and accessing the Operating System. She could see that there were several hundred messages marked 'priority' and 'emergency' on the Hub's data storage device. Most were old transmissions from other systems that the Empire once held, useless now. She cleared out the messages, deeming them worthless for her purposes.

There would be no help coming. Not during this cycle.

Tapping into the Hub's central brain, the communications device lowered its 5DT-HMD 800-40 user interface, queuing up the program as Hale took the head mounted device and slid it onto her head carapace, the bands and connections adjusting for a proper fit as sensors began to acknowledge her brain waves, indicating it was ready to copy. Hale began to transmit into the HUD.

"For any whom are listening to this," the Lieutenant Colonel began, "this is Praetor Halux Signe, of the Utopia Praetorian Prefecture. The Kin have come at last to Utopia II, and now wage extinction against any and all in this system. If you are of the Empire and receive my message, do not come to our aid; it is too late for us. I shall send what I know in hopes that it will fare better for you than it did for I. If you are not of the Empire, perhaps one of our enemies or one of the primative races that the Kin will bypass, may this information be warning to what will happen to you one day. For the glory of the Empire in which I have served, and for the hopes of a galaxy that this slaughter will one day end forever. This is Praetor Signe... good luck." Hale began to send everything she had ever seen and heard about the Vanguard and their Ascended, as well as military tactics, weapons, information... every piece of information that she thought could help someone else. It took a kilicron for the information to be downloaded into the Hub, and the Lieutenant Colonel took off the 5DT, looking at the head mounted device with some satisfaction; her mission was completed. She briefly wondered who would find the Hub, who would access it? It mattered not as she shoulder the Stripper, turning from the intergalatic communications device and began to walk away, in search for more enemies to kill until she herself fell. Until then, all she had left to give was death.

For the Empire. For the galaxy.

* * *

"Doctor, I think she's coming around."

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale opened her eyes, her vision hazy as she saw lights that seemed to stab into her eyes, blinking rapidly. She went to cover her eyes with her hand, and was shocked to see that she had five fingers and pink flesh. Her hand went to her face, and found soft flesh as oppose to hard chitinous carapace, a nose that stuck out, and only two eyes. _Oh, I'm human._ Hale thought to herself as she saw an older woman with grey hair approaching her, a look of concern on her face as she pulled out a small penlight and proceeded to turn it on and shine it into her two eyes, one at a time. Reality and understand were slow in coming to her as she looked at the older woman... Chakwas, Commander Karin Chakwas! That was her name.

"Where am I?" Hale asked, her voice weak, her words strange... English.

"You're in the Med Bay of the _Normandy_ , Colonel." The Medical Doctor replied kindly, giving Hale a smile as Jen tried connecting the dots, her brain not cooperating with her fully. All she could do was nod as her thoughts remained sluggish, disjointed. _Normandy_... Alliance Frigate, Ohio-Class. "How are you feeling, Jennifer?"

 _Jennifer... not... Halux,_ she thought to herself, looking to her hand again. Still five-fingered, the strangeness of it wearing off as she looked around the Med Bay, the memories slowly returning to her, memories of _Jennifer Hale_ , Praetor Halux Signe slowly slipping away. She was aware of a killer headache, the stiffness in her body, and the ache in her right side, just above her hip. _War, Eden Prime, Geth._ Hale remembered, as well as remembering that she had been shot. The Beacon. The bomb.

Meer.

"Like a return trip from Cancun after shore leave." Hale replied finally, wincing as she slowly sat up, her side still tender as she placed a hand on where she had been hit. There was a bandage and monitoring package there, much to her surprise. If it had been recent, the bandage would have been thicker, with tubes feeding stem cells and supplemental amino acids to promote and accelerate growth and healing. If it was just a common protective bandage package, that meant that she was well into her recovery period... several hours of it. "How bad was I, Doc?"

"Physically, we almost lost you." The Commander replied, her voice quiet as Hale sat in a comfortable position, leaning to her left slightly to avoid hurting her healing side unduly. "I was able to stabilize you and work on your wounds, but I had to do so in a stasis bed. You had been shot in the side, and the round nicked your kidney, causing toxins and poisons to introduce themselves into your bloodstream. When you were hit by the explosion, it pushed your system over the edge, and you were suffering from Acute Kidney Injury as well as epileptic seizures, what we call Grand Mal Seizure. While you have made a full recovery and I expect you to be fully well on your feet within 48 hours, there are concerns I need to address with you."

"Okay. Let's get that out of the way then while I'm here." Hale looked around the Med Bay, and saw that the only other person there was one of the 8404 Corpsman who worked the Med Bay, a Hospital Corpsman, Second Class Basheer, L., according to her DSU Alliance Blue blouse. The Corpsman was inventorying medicines in one of the medical lockers, obviously pretending not to listen. It was pretty standard in any Dispensary or Med Bay that conversations were generally heard by those who worked in such places. She shrugged it off, figuring that Doc Basheer was probably well aware of everything.

"I had to dialize your blood to purge the toxins in your bloodstream," Commander Chakwas began, Hale having been injured enough and having men injured enough that she knew most medical trauma measures without explanation, "and you are in the clear with no threat of organ damage or failure save for your right kidney. I used stem cell treatment on the damaged portions of your kidney after surgically removing the damaged portions from the gunshot wound. The treatment took well, and the stem cells bonded with your kidney will no complications. By this time tomorrow, your kidney should be restored to full functionality, and you won't be needing any more dialysis after tonight's regimen." Ugh, dialysis wasn't comfortable. "I stitched Artificial Phlesh to the site to speed up the recovery process, and it should be about three days before your body truly incorporates the Phlesh, regrowing blood cells and nerve endings to the site. Until then, I'd advise taking it easy; light duty for seventy-two hours. A few prescriptions to help with the pain and promote regrowth for the next week, and you will be back to fighting form in no time, Colonel."

"That's good." Hale replied, smiling. She had been in a traction after Torfan, forced to stay in a hospital for two weeks straight on a bed, and it hadn't been pleasant. "I take it there's more? It's never that easy, Doc."

"Your mental status is... impaired." That had the Lieutenant Colonel go quiet; that could be a career-killer. "You were quite close to an explosion, so I checked for concussion and mTBI." That was an acronym Hale knew well; minor traumatic brain injury covered everything from mild concussions to bleeding of the cerebellum from explosions and shock. "You were also flung about due to the explosion, and you weren't wearing your combat helmet." Chakwas' voice was filled with disapproval.

"I had taken a hit to my helmet earlier. HUD was malfunctioning to where I couldn't see through it, and it was damaged to the point of uselessness." The N7 explained. She wasn't stupid; going into combat without a helmet was just plain retarded. Still, sometimes helmets took damage that it was generally better to do without despite the severe consequences. Retrospectively, her helmet had done its job well and had saved her life; without it, she probably would have been clipped in the skull. "I didn't try to break anything with my head, did I?"

"Thankfully, no." The Medical Commander answered, though she still didn't approve. "Truthfully, I doubt your helmet would have done much even if it was in full working order. You are at least smart enough to know and understand the importance of wearing a helmet in a combat zone. I've seen too many incidences of Marines and Sailors forgoing their helmets for some pretty stupid reasons; better field of view, able to hear things in the open as oppose to relying on suit microphones, just wanting fresh air..." Doctor Chakwas snorted, shaking her head. "Battle damage is at least understandable, especially if the optical array of your helmet was damaged. I'd rather you sat out a fight for such things, but I know that can't always be the case. You, at least, are well-trained and intelligent enough not to be so arrogant as to think that you are somehow immune to stupidity."

"They don't call us Jarheads for nothing." Jen smiled, making Karin snort again, though it was followed with a smile. "So how was my mental status impaired? Concussion? Cranial bruising? Bleeding of the cerebellum? Swelling?"

"Alpha brain wave patterns were highly erratic and almost off the chart." Commander Chakwas replied, and that had Hale frown. That wasn't something she was familiar with. "Usually, we associate it with epilepsy and Grand Mal Seizures, when electrical output of the brain is over the normally-generated threshold, creating the 'spasms' that one generally associates with epilepsy and seizures. But you did not have the normal triggers; it wasn't your brain that was generating the problems. It was more like..."

"The Beacon did something to me." Jen whispered, meant for the Medical Doctor's ears alone. "I... don't remember what happened after it picked me up, but next thing I know, I was... I was somewhere else." Chakwas frowned at that. "Tonight, during my dialysis, can you do a full brain scan on me? Label it for possible residual effects for concussion, seizure... whatever sounds nice and nothing to worry about? I don't want what happened getting out because I don't think people will understand, jumping to wrong conclusions before hearing everything. I need to investigate what happened to me so when I bring it forth, I've already done the legwork to fight against stupid accusations before they are made."

"Okay, I understand. Just... will you tell me what you think happened?" The way that Doctor Chakwas asked had Jen surprised; it sounded... sincere, honest, like she truly cared. "Perhaps I know of something that can help you with your investigation."

"Okay. I can do that." Hale took a deep breath and sighed, looking over her shoulder at Doc Basheer, who was completely oblivious.

"I think that Beacon downloaded something into my brain."

* * *

"Jen!" Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo called out from the mess hall as Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale stepped out of the Med Bay, dressed in her DSU Alliance Blues, and saw that her surviving Marines had all been waiting for her. She walked into the mess hall to the sounds of applause and cheering from her sixteen surviving Marines, eight still injured and on light-duty just like her. Marines weren't the only ones expressing themselves as Jen returned to the land of the living; a good many Sailors were applauding as well, Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko pinching his fingers in his mouth and blowing out a shrilling whistle of appreciation as the N7 Marine gave off a twisted smile, waving off the adulation.

Commander Karin Chakwas had filled her in on the cost of Eden Prime, giving her an update for casualties and fatalities. Twenty-four men and women would be returning home in caskets, having died holding off the Geth as they protected civilians on the colony. It was never good losing men, but it happened. Hale was just glad that they obviously died for a good cause; protecting human beings. There were a lot worse reasons to die for. Her remaining fifteen Marines may not have made up a full section in a platoon, but in her mind, they were the best damn platoon she had ever had. She had fought with and lead many a platoon, company, and battalion, but this was the first time she had been involved in an obvious war, unlike the 'actions' of the Skyllian Blitz, raiding pirate bases and strongholds, intermixed with slaver hunts. With so few men, Lieutenant Alenko and Master Sergeant Maldonaldo were practically able to replicate Shepards' action on Elysium. If Captain Anderson hadn't recommended the both of them for the Star of Terra each, then she'd get started with the paperwork as soon as she was done writing the condolence letters.

She wasn't looking forward to that. Never did.

"It's I who should be thank you men and women." Hale spoke, the applause dying as she looked to the Marines and Sailors of the SSV _Normandy_ , seeing that she had their undivided attention. "Metal assholes went and attacked one of our colonies, and we were the only ones there to respond. Did you shirk from your duties because the task was impossible, or did you stay faithful and true?" There were a few whoops from her Marines. "One Frigate against a Geth Armada, and who was the first to turn tail and run?" A few more catcalls came, along with some good-natured high-fives. "Ladies and gentlemen, you did the impossible; you did your jobs. I'm damn proud of every single one of you, and I'm going to be developing carpal tunnel syndrome from all the accommodations I'm going to be writing for the _Normandy_ , its service members, and her Marines. Six thousand, four hundred and seventy-three civilians were pulled from the jaws of death due to the valiant efforts of our Marines and Sailors, while the _Normandy_ itself ran interference against Geth air strikes and battlefield superiority, saving even more lives that will probably never get an exact number. We _saved_ Constant, and everyone still breathing on that colony owes us their gratitude."

"Gee, all you did was dismantle an Anti-Matter Bomb with a single second left, ma'am. Slacking." The Typhoon teased, making several people whoop. "Not to mention wiping out a Geth patrol with that behemoth shotgun of yours while _blind_. Typical Marine Officers; all about the PowerPoint slides and their coffee." She looked over to Kaiden, who let off a _faux_ -sigh of understanding as he nodded her head.

"You forgot shuffling paperwork to us poor low-ranking Officers and you high-ranking NCO's so they can fiddle on SpaceBook and ExtraGram, pretending to do real work." The Naval Lieutenant shook his head sadly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Traitors." Hale smiled, loving the fact that her men gave her some shit in good fun. "You two have your Dress Blues and Whites pressed and ready when we reach Arcturus Station, and I'll inspect them. I don't doubt you'll be getting awards that contain the words 'Star' and 'Terra'. As for the rest of you meatheads," the Lieutenant Colonel looked to her surviving Marines, "get ready for a ton of awards, promotions, and commendations. Get your Class Blues ready, because at the very least, we have a send-off to attend to for our friends, and we will look our best for them." The cheers died, but there wasn't one face that didn't look just as passionate. Twenty-four Marines were going to Final Muster, and no matter their injuries, there wouldn't be one of them who wouldn't attend, even Corporal Richard Jenkins, who was temporarily wheelchair-bound. "We did humanity proud on Eden Prime. People will look back and remember your names and your actions. For that, I salute you." The Lieutenant Colonel did just that, going to the position of attention and saluted all of those who were there. "I'm Goddamn proud of every single one of you, Marines and Sailors. Goddamn _proud_."

" _XO, since I can hear you grunting Neanderthal with the other Marines,"_ Captain David Anderson's voice came up on the intercom of the mess hall, earning a few chuckles from her men, _"come see me in my office so I can shuffle my paperwork to Alenko while we sip coffee and cruise the Extranet for troupes about smart-ass Lieutenants and post his likeness on a whipping boy on SpaceBook."_ The immediate calls of hazing and 'get some!' from the Enlisted Marines had the Naval Lieutenant blushing as Jen chuckled, waggling her forefinger back and forth in a 'naughty boy' fashion.

"Is it too late to send in a transfer for another ship, like a civilian freighter? I heard that the _Ebon Hawk_ is in need of a pilot." Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko replied dramatically, placing the back of his hand on his forehead in an all-suffering pantomime.

* * *

A/N: Yes, Colonel Hale became a Prothean. The beginning of the chapter is from the viewpoint of a Prothean Warrior, not Javik.

Karuta tatami - chest armor, from the Japanese Samurai.

5DT HMD 800-40 - A real life product from Virtual Realities, LLC, this is the 5DT Head-Mounted Display 800 series Virtual Reality Gaming Platform head mounted user interface device; a visor. For $2,499, it could be yours so you can play 90's era 3D graphic games like... polygon racing?

8404 Corpsman - Hospital Corpsmen are the medics of the Navy, rated as HM, serving not only the United States Navy, but also the United States Marine Corps. In the Navy, this profession holds the highest amount of decorations in the US Navy, with 22 Medals of Honor, and an absolute plithora of others. They do everything from running pharmacies, dispensaries, clinical and specialty technicians, medical administrative personnel, as well as emergency medical treatment specialists in combat environments alongside Naval personnel and Marine Corps platoons. Generally, Marines don't respect much anyone else but other Marines, but 'Doc' is one of the chosen few for very obvious reasons. Never mess with a Combat Corpsman unless you want some Marine feeding you your own teeth. I know I was exteremly protective of my Medics for the same reasons.

Dispensary - Different services have different names for medical clinics; in the Army, they are Aid Stations. In the Navy, they are Dispensaries. Usually, such places are for common check-ups, dispensing medications, medical supplies, and treatment plans.

 _Ebon Hawk_ \- A Dynamic-Class freighter built by Core Galaxy Systems, piloted by Carth Onasi in the BioWare game _Star Wars: Knights Of The Old Republic._ Carth Onasi and Kaiden Alenko were both voice acted by the same man, Raphael Sbarge. Strangely enough, Mark Meer was initially suppose to do Carth's voice, but Sbarge was eventually chosen. - a excerpt from the Galactic Codex of Wikipedia


	31. Arterius: Reports

**Arterius: Reports**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 29: Arterius, Reports

SSV _Normandy_ , Arcturus Stream, April 3, 2183 0843 Zulu

Counsel Agent Saren Arterius stood in a relaxed Turian military position known as 'the Guard' as he looked upon the three holographic representations of the Counsel of Three as they reviewed the reports he had sent them, as well as Nihlus Kryik. Nihlus stood beside the Biotic Turian, both of them silent as the three of them read over the information sent to the Counsel concerning the events on Eden Prime. Obviously, news of the Geth Invasion had been a shocking blow to everyone, and the Alliance New Network monitor in the _Normandy's_ mess hall had been blaring war as Human newscasters heaped blame and scorn at a variety of directions and persons. What didn't surprise him was the actions taken by the _Normandy_ , the Marines who had fought for Eden Prime, and that of Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale. Already news reports were updating with the actions of the forty men and women of the Marine platoon, fighting in a fierce defensive battle that was now dubbed 'the Miracle of Eden Prime'. Those who had been on the ground had done nothing but sing the praises of Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo and Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko, civilians and service members who had survived due to their valiant efforts. Over six thousand human beings were rescued by those forty brave men and women, something that Saren admitted to himself that he was quite genuinely impressed. Not only were the Marines lauded; Lieutenant Colonel Hale, too, was being praised for her actions as well, dismantling a fifty megaton Anti-Matter Bomb that would have surely leveled all of Constant, Eden Prime. Saren had snorted when someone had shown a pic of the bomb on one of the news programs, its final '00:01' on display. Thankfully, not one word had been mentioned of any Turians on Eden Prime. Sad to say, but if he and Nihlus had been on the news, there was no doubt in his mind that the Human media would put both SPECTREs as possible culprits.

Just as well that they hadn't.

" _A most impressive action._ " Counselor Sparatus Quinlinus finally said as he set down his datapad, his holographic image looking to Saren. " _Reports suggest that the Geth landed some one-hundred thousand warforms onto the surface of Eden Prime, as well as six Dreadnought-Class vessels ranging in the same tonnage as the_ Pride of Palaven. _That is alarming; that means that this Invasion Fleet can more than match anything the Citadel can immediately throw at them, and easily match the Alliance Navy Dreadnought for Dreadnought. What the STG was able to pull up from the colony's remaining civilian servers was that this was a sudden strike. Thirteen Alliance Air Force Cruiser-Class vessels were immediately destroyed within a minute with one another, by hacking into the Eden Prime Colonial Planetary Defense Grid. Data suggests that the GTS batteries literally fired_ everything _at once at the Cruisers, smashing any resistance as well as rendering any retaliation on the ground obsolete. Bold, and terrifying. These Geth are not to be underestimated._ "

"If it happened on Eden Prime, it could have happened anywhere. A Turian colony could have easily suffered this if the Geth had decided to attack us first." Nihlus Kryik spoke, looking to the holographic images of the Counselors. "The Geth warforms were using weaponry we didn't recognize, but their power was undeniable. I myself saw on two seperate occasions a single round punching through a Human's EMD field, MID barrier, Heavy Armor, and out the other side. And Humanity is rather good at making armor." Saren grunted in agreement; while Humanity's weapons were generally in fourth place among the other species of Citadel Space, their armor was almost on par with the Asari. That was no small feat. Considering one of the ones who had been shot was an N7 Marine in Heavy Armor, the implications were staggering.

The Electromagnetic Defense field that Humanity installed into their military armors was simply an electromagnetic pulse device meant to 'turn' rounds away from the wearer, or slowing it down to strip it of its efficiency. The EMD was probably responisble for 40% less casualties and 70% less fatalities on the battlefield alone. Though any action cams they might have had were disabled thanks to Geth jamming, Saren had written that Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams had been shot in the shoulder, while Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale had been shot in the side; neither immediately lethal. His theory was that the rounds were much faster than normal, meaning that while the EMD field did 'turn' the round, the energy and velocity was much more than usual, and only turned a shot a few degrees, resulting in a casualty as oppose to a fatality. The Marines who had landed on Eden Prime hadn't died of heart shots or lung shots, but several had been hit multiple times in likewise potentially lethal areas, such as the stomach, making Saren believe that the EMD was no longer effective enough. If that were the case, then Heirarchy forces could expect high fatality rates if fighting the Geth, as Humanity did not sell their EMD technology to any other species. In all honestly, Saren didn't blame them anymore.

The Molecular Ionization Defense barrier, generally just called a 'shield', was proven Mass Effect technology reversed-engineered from paleotechnologists studying Prothean Data Disks. The shield blocked incoming rounds up to a certain rating; the kinetic energy was deadened as the shield 'solidified' and bounced the round off. Of course, shields were good for only a few shots, depending on the size of the capacitors that ran the MID. They were meant to give soldiers a chance to get to cover safely, protecting them for a few seconds from surpressive fire or even a couple of aimed shots. Saren hadn't even noticed if their shields had gone off during the fight, and had to look it up on their armors' VI, including Hales' and Williams'. Sadly, whatever the Geth did to interfere with communications and Omnitools had done the same to the cyber-software suites of their armors... meaning that the MIDs were probably not even activated. If they fought Geth, they would have to hardwire some sort of mechanical device to turn it on, adjust it, and monitor it. That would be a Spirits-be-damned pain in the plates, but it was better than no shields whatsoever.

" _Tactical assessment?_ " Counselor Tevos T'essus asked, her hands behind her back as she looked on, the beautiful Asari Counselor serious.

"Dangerous. Close to Krogan Rebellion-level threat." Saren replied, his voice and mouth still bothering him from where he had been shot, but a great deal better than back on Eden Prime. He had lost a few of his back teeth from the gunshot wound, but thankfully nothing critical had been hit. His mandible would retain full functionality, though it would likely be sore for the rest of his life, his cheek-plate permamently disformed. It was better than dead, though. "They react like organics do, as well as potentially working as one massive network. The element of surprise may only work once against the Geth, the rest of the force immediately aware of losses and location, even if they do not know who or how. I myself saw a Geth platform dodge my rounds. They seem to have no resistance to Biotics, though; I was able to Lift a couple without any interferance from Physics Thresholds, mechanical augmentation, or exoskeletons. If the Geth deploy again, I advise using Huntresses, Commandos, the Cabal, or other Biotically-capable units." That had Counselor Valern Nemnor nodding. "Technical expertise and engineering experts may prove less-than useful. Communcations, Omnitools, and even our armors' VI's were shutdown from interferance. The Geth literally jammed everything. If they could pull such a tactic in space? It is more than possible they could shut down a ships' systems; shields, weapons... life support. They in fact did so to non-military ships in the Utopia System."

" _Nothing like that happened to the_ Normandy." Counselor Nemnor pointed out.

"Because it is a stealth ship, and Geth are completely dependant on electronic detection, I believe." Nihlus answered. "The _Normandy_ was in full stealth during operations, and was able to destroy dozens of Geth Assault Flyers without retaliation. I believe it to be because the Geth simply could not detect the ship. Flight Lieutenant Moreau, the ships' pilot, is also something of a prodigy. He is, quite simply, the highest-scoring pilot in the Alliance, and perhaps the best pilot in the galaxy. With that combination at hand, the _Normandy_ became a very lethal weapon. Anyone else would have been eating Dreadnought fire, Assault Flyers on their flanks, and possibly cyberwarfare, infowarfare, and electronicwarfare from every possible angle of attack. If we launch ships against the Geth, I recommend heavy electronic shielding against EMP, non-network systems, and secondary physical monitoring devices and physical user interface instrumentation as oppose to complete reliance of VI's, Haptic displays, and GUI network protocols."

" _Sounds like you're recommending we use the Alliance Fleets_." Counselor Quintinus scoffed, shaking his fringed head.

"We are." Saren replied. "They made those systems because they feared our hacking abilities and our technologies, and purposefully made their systems... 'dumb', for lack of a better term, to prevent interferance. It might now be their single greatest strength in terms of tactical advantages against the Geth, who can throw several thousand Petahertz into technological access and defense. We know this because the Alliance Air Force weren't the only ships in the Utopia System at the time; thirteen vessels were moving in and out of the system. Freighters, merchants, transports, and one merc vessel. All were dead from total system loss and failure save for the merc vessel, an older Dynamic-Class freighter that did not have system network capabilities. They survived by shutting down the systems themselves once they discovered what was attacking them and how, and manned their lifepods, which have on-board life support units that use little power. What was interesting was that they survived for two days before Second Fleet discovered them.

"The Geth were in the Utopia system for at least two days before attacking." Saren emphasized.

" _They hid? Why?_ " Counselor T'essus asked, surprised. " _We had just learned of the Prothean Beacon, yet they were there before? What were they waiting for?"_

"We asked the only person available, as all the servers and hard drives on Eden Prime were destroyed by the Geth." Saren answered. "The Beacon was discovered nine days ago. On a lark, I asked Lieutenant Commander Charles Pressley of the _Normandy_ how long it would take for an Alliance Dreadnought to go from the Utopia System to the Tikkun System, or at least the Far Rim. Including mobilization, the answer was ten days." That answer had the Counselors mildly interested. "If the Geth were already mobilized, then it would take five days... meaning that the Geth left as soon as they discovered the Prothean Beacon was on Eden Prime. The Geth were already ready for war."

" _That doesn't explain why they didn't attack from the on-set_." Counselor Nemnor replied, looking thoughtful.

"I asked Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams, the only surviving member tasked with the defense of the Beacon, if she knew of anything that would prevent the Geth from immediately invading Eden Prime, something that might have occurred, or perhaps the Beacon wasn't ready. Instead, she came up with a different reason; the presence of the Alliance Fourth Fleet in the Utopia System, doing a routine patrol. That had me curious; why would the Geth care? They had six Dreadnoughts for the Fourth Fleets' singular Dreadnought, single Carrier, four Cruisers, six Destroyers, eight Frigates, and twelve Corvettes. That shouldn't worry two Dreadnoughts, much less six. I posed this question to Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale, to see if she recognized something we missed. And she did.

"The XO of the SSV _Kilimanjaro_ , the flagship of the Fourth Fleet, is Captain Hannah Shepard."

" _That... would mean that your theory is correct; that the Lion of Elysium led the Geth to Eden Prime_." Counselor Tevos T'essus replied slowly. Saren had already given the Counsel the rundown on how he had been shot. " _I understand that you do not want to damage the reputation of an acclaimed warrior without sufficient proof. But with you spotting her on Eden Prime, and this information, it seems quite likely that Commander Jane Shepard may indeed be in league with the Geth Consensus_."

"But it doesn't explain why she would use the Geth, or her motivations." Nihlus countered, speaking up. "If she were in league with the Geth, that means she had to wait for an opportunity such as the Prothean Beacon, had to approach the Geth _before hand_. What organic could convince the Geth not to blow them to smitherines without some sort of opportunity that the Geth could logically accept? She didn't know of the Beacon prior. If she is with the Geth, then she has some sort of leverage or motivation that the Geth would be interested in, to give her aid. With six Dreadnoughts at her disposal, not to mention that unidentified ship that landed on Eden Prime... why wait? I don't see humans quite the same way as most of my Turian kin, but with that kind of firepower, she could have invaded Hegemony Space and come out strong. Why wait, and why for a Prothean Beacon?"

" _Interesting questions, considering the Commander has been missing for almost four years_." The Salarian Counselor mused. " _Continue this line of inquiry. Include Colonel Hale into it, as she is most likely to understand Commander Shepard best. We also read over your reports on the scientists that you found on-site on Eden Prime. You said it was the Lieutenant Colonel that suggested you take hard-copy photographs of the victims?"_

"That is correct." Saren answered, nodding his head as well. "I had never seen anything like it before. It was like they were in the unwaking sleep, except there was no sign of trauma or exposure to suggest what made them fall to such a state."

" _The Alliance has found them and are now treating those victims_." Counselor T'essus filled in. " _We have sent an Asari specialist to see if anything can be gleaned. Colonel Hale made an astute observation and the correct choice to investigate those victims. It is unusual that the Geth would leave them in such a state when they are killing resistance and... that Goddess-forbid 'spiking' of the bodies_."

" _Has the candidate made a recovery?_ " Counselor Sparatus asked, his tone neutral, even. Sparatus rarely named any Human, but the fact that his tone wasn't insulting meant he approaved of Hale in his own skeptical way.

"She will, Counselor." Nihlus replied with a nod. "She disarmed an Anti-Matter Bomb in a minute. That was a Spirits-be-praised blessing. There was one second left when she stopped it. Never saw hacking like that before. Primative... but it worked."

" _I would like to meet her_." The Turian Counselor announced, making Saren and Nihlus look at one another for a brief moment. Not that they worried about Colonel Hale's interaction with members not of her race, but someone seeing the Counsel for the first time could be a little... intimidating. Saren and Nihlus knew their personalities and stances. Hale would not. The Turian wasn't even sure if the Lieutenant Colonel knew their names. He certainly hadn't seen the Three named on Alliance Forces Network; generally they were called 'the Asari Counselor', or 'the Turian Counselor'. He had heard the less-than pleasant names as well, though Hale never uttered them once, not even when she was just being monitored by her Omnitool.

"I believe she is in a meeting with her Captain. I shall text her immediately." Arterius replied, hoping that this wouldn't be a bad idea.

* * *

"Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale, reporting to the Counsel as ordered." The N7 Marine stood in the position of attention, saluting the holographic images of the Counsel of Three, dropping it three seconds later as she went into the Human version of the Guard, what Humanity called 'parade rest'. Saren Arterius let off a small sigh of relief as he watched the Lieutenant Colonel interact with the Counselors for the first time, ignorant of protocol and ettiquite. Still, she was being polite, saluted them in the Human version, and didn't waste there time. It was a good foot to start on.

" _Do you know who I am?_ " Counselor Sparatus Quinlinus asked, standing with his talons folded across his chest carapace, his stance one of superiority and aggressiveness.

"Of course, sir. You are the Turian Counselor." Hale replied, her voice neutral, though it was obvious that the question surprised her. One of Sparatus' mandibles twitched in irritation. "I... ah... don't actually know your names." The Lieutenant Colonel admitted a little sheepishly. "AFN doesn't say. I just assumed that there were suppose to be secret or classified. I guess that isn't actually the case."

" _Charming_." Counselor Tevos T'essus answered, not looking please either, as she stood with her hands folded behind her back, her head tilted backwards just enough to give the impressing that she was looking down upon whomever she spoke to. On purpose. " _I am Counselor Tevos T'essus, and no, it isn't a state secret. My colleges are Counselors Valern Nemnor_ ," the Salarian Counselor had his hands in his robes and his hood over his head, looking sinister, " _and Sparatus Quinlinus_." Her Turian counterpart 'harumph'ed in indignation.

"My apologies, Counselors. My race isn't exactly well-known for being... open-minded." Hale replied, her stance slightly nervous. This wasn't going well, Saren noted, and even the N7 noticed. Damn, he should have told her their names! "How may I help you?" He watched as Hale looked at all three of them, obviously looking for the 'leader'. He remembered that, during the Board for a SPECTRE candidate, Fleet Master Jon Grissom had sat in the middle. But without rank or any other identifying marks, Lieutenant Colonel Hale didn't know whom she was suppose to be talking to. She had no idea that Counselor Tevos T'essus had been a part of the Counsel of Three for seven decades, and was the nominal leader of the Counsel.

" _Tell us what you know of Cerberus, Colonel_." Counselor Nemnor asked, his voice rapid.

"Actual information, or whatever I've heard and rumors, sir?" Hale asked, with an honest face, at that. "Most of what I've heard is hearsay; that it started in Shanxi after the First Conta... um, Relay 314 Incident." _Good recovery_ , Saren thought to himself, considering that Counselor Quinlinus was also a Relay 314 Veteran. "It was originally made up of veterans and survivors who were... rather disenfranchised with the Citadel Conventions. They're a terrorist group that bombs, assassinates, hacks, disrupts, and sabotages various components in both the Alliance and other governments. Supposedly, they are ran in cells, one seperated from another so that if one is discovered or a member turns, they can only compromise a small portion. Their leader is supposedly someone called the Illusive Man, but no one's ever seen him. I think he's probably just a figurehead or a mascot, and not a real man, sir. Symbology."

" _The real Cerberus collapsed years ago_." The Salarian Counselor answered, surprising the Lieutenant Colonel. _"The Illusive Man, one John Martin Harper, was ousted in a_ coup d'ete _by his own members, along with several sympathetic members who were more interested in elevating Humanity towards a better position of power, as oppose towards isolationalism and seperatism, like its modern-day construct, known as the Corporation_."

"I... holy shit." The news stunned the Marine as she looked towards Saren, frowned, and then back to the Counsel. "Cerberus _doesn't_ exist?"

" _In an underground fashion, weak and pathetic_." Counselor Sparatus spat out. " _You are an N7, one of the highest-trained individuals your Systems Alliance has to offer. You are also one of the highest-decorated officers in your military, with a reputation that is well-seated among your kind. Yet you are known as 'the Daughter of Mindoir'_." Hale shifted slightly on her feet, and Saren had to fight off a growl, remembering the Combat Simulation Arena. " _What would you do to prevent another Mindoir?"_

"Anything, sir." The Lieutenant Colonel replied, her tone pure steel. The SPECTRE could tell that the Human Marine was getting angry, and rightfully so.

" _Anything? Even if I told you that while Batarians were responsible for reaving your colony, it was Human hands that paid them to do so? Hands that belong in the Alliance_." Saren couldn't help but hiss at the news. Spirits! She wasn't suppose to know about that! What was the Counsel doing?

"Then I would say that I would love to look at what proof you have, sir." Hale replied evenly, but Saren didn't doubt that inside, the N7 was raging. At who? It was a question best left unasked. This was turning into a disaster of epic proportion. It was as if the Counsel were goading Lieutenant Colonel Hale to explode, to lose her temper, to act like a member of her species. What was the point of that? That was why he and Nihlus were there! To evaluate her! Did they not read their observations?

" _Yet your own government works against you, Colonel Hale."_ Counselor T'essus explained. _"Only yesterday, Ambassador Udina had scheduled a vid-conference with us to explain your mental instabilities, your inability to work with others, your insubornation, and a full report from the Alliance Office of Naval Intelligence stating possible connections to Cerberus, with witnesses, testimony, interactions, and data retrieval from said organization."_ Saren grew alarmed as Hale began to visibly shake, trembling so bad that she looked to be having a small seizure. They were trying to push her over the edge, to make her explode. What was the purpose? To deny her the ability to become a Counsel Agent? Spirits, Saren had it easier by far when he was selected. As had Nihlus. " _Both the Ambassador and the Alliance Fleet Master are calling to remove you from the candidacy, no longer sponsoring you._ "

"Fleet Master Grissom is trying to remove me, ma'am?" The shaking had stopped, and the N7 sounded... stumped. Oh Spirits, she didn't know yet. "No offense, Counselor, but I find that hard to believe that from the man who recommended me for a Star of Terra."

" _You... hadn't heard."_ The Asari Counselor's mask broke for a second, no longer an air of superiority exuding from the Thessian, but sorrow. " _I... regret to inform you that Fleet Master Jon Grissom passed away in his sleep three days ago on Arcturus Station."_ That had the Lieutenant Colonel as still as a statue, and the SPECTRE was fairly certain that she wasn't completely aware of what was going on around her. Hale was simply struck speechless. _"The new Alliance Fleet Master... Singh? He has already issued orders for several Alliance vessels to pull away from Counsel border patrols... that was before the Geth Invasion."_

"Wai... _Admiral_ Khan Singh? Of the Sol Defense Fleet?" Hale looked rather shocked. "Not Admiral Tadius Ahern? Are you sure? I mean..." The N7 shook her head, seemingly in thought. "Admiral Khan Singh was only recently promoted to that rank... like within the last year. He was the Flag Officer of the SSV _Shasta_ and Sixth Fleet. Before that, he was Rear Admiral in charge of the Charon Defense Fleet, on the SSV _Narobi_ , a Cruiser. Huge bigot. His idea of dealing with non-humans is to glass them and blast them into atoms. And they made him Fleet Master?" The Marine chewed on her lower horizontal mandible. "That... can't be right. There's four Admirals, and they literally picked the least-ranking one for the highest military position in the Alliance? I'm not a hundred percent on non-human government organizations... but that's the equivalent of the Palavenian Grand Marshall for us; even the Alliance President listens to the Fleet Master. Or... at least he did when it was Jon Grissom. What of Admiral Ahern? Admiral Shule? Admiral Deshucamp?" While the questions were directed at the Counsel, even Saren realized that they were rhetorical, Hale standing there, thoughtfully. "Met him once, right before Torfan, back when he was on the Carrier SSV _Tom Edison_. His idea on the operation was to nuke them from orbit, glass the moon, and considered the captured and enslaved collateral damage. Man like that is dangerous."

" _Such is the nature of politics; you start climbing the meritocracy high enough, and you find that opinions that were little before will now carry the weight to move mountains."_ Counselor Sparatus Quinlinus said, and Saren was surprised by the quote; it was from the Book of Valluvian, not something normally told to non-Turians. _"Colonel Hale, it is our intention to make you a Counsel Agent of the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. You shall be Humanity's First SPECTRE, and with it, all that it will bring. Sadly, due to your species'... proclivities towards sensationalism and grand-standing, the person who accepts this position shall be under fire from everything that Humanity has to offer. From its genuine support to its very base nature. What we have given you is a test, a taste of what your life will be like should you accept, Colonel. You will be hero and villain, saint and monster, the representation of all that is good and everything that is evil of your species, by your species, and to your species. You shall be their greatest hope, and they will hate you for it. You will be at the pinnacle of your species, and they will do everything to drag you down. You have proven yourself a thousand times over, yet they will surround you on all sides, slinging their hooks and barbs at you, to cut at your flesh and poison your soul. Spirits will forsake you as you are betrayed again and again by the very people you swore to serve and save. Long and hard shall be the path for Humanity's First SPECTRE. Do you wish to continue, or will you abdicate? The choice is yours, Colonel."_

Saren understood now, as he looked at the Human female that stood there, looking at the holographic representation of the Counsel of Three, silence between them. He saw Hale stand there, obviously mulling over what the Turian Counselor had said. Saren... hadn't expected for such advice to come from him, considering Sparatus' attitude towards Humans in general. Yet he had a point he hadn't considered; there would be a great many Humans that would revile Hale just for the sakes that she was where they had no control over her. She would be a target for influence, recriminations, and blame. No matter how hard she would try, they would ask more out of her, despairing how little she would be able to accomplish against the weight of an entire galaxy of wrongs and slights. Some will wish she would cut ties with the galaxy on the whole, to become some sort of Champion for Humanity, and only Humanity. Some will wish that she would become a weapon against non-Humans, to protect the Alliance. Some never realized that half of what a SPECTRE did was generally against their own government, to keep those in power in line. Hale would be the only one to do so, to stand for her species while standing against it.

He didn't envy her.

"Did... did the first SPECTREs face something like this? What you are telling me?" Hale asked, her tone honest, forthwright. It was a good question. Saren actually knew the answer.

" _Yes, both for the first SPECTRE, Bello Gurji, and the First Turian SPECTRE, Maxis Trevanis_." Counsel Quinlinus replied, his stance no longer so authorative, no longer so superior. He uncrossed his arms and held them behind his back; a position of respect. " _I have prepared the records of Agent Trevanis, as well as that of his personnal logs. While they were meant for his immediate successors to the SPECTREs, I believe that they will give insight for you as well, Colonel. He faced much adversity in his time, most especially from the Hierarchy, I am sad to say_."

" _Then is your answer to be favorable, Colonel Hale?"_ Counselor T'essus asked matter-of-factly. " _Or do you wish for time? This is a monumental decision both for yourself and your species."_

"My answer? It was made years ago, during my first slaver raid." The N7 frowned, obviously remembering the incident. "I was a Second Lieutenant at the time, with Gunnery Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo keeping me from making _too_ many dumb decisions." Saren recalled that the Typhoon of Eden Prime had once been Hale's Platoon Sergeant, after graduating the Naval Academy. "Shot some slaver scum, cleared the building, and found the cages where about twenty humans were being held... along with a pair of Salarian males." Hale looked to Saren for a moment. Why? "Never occurred to me that I might be saving non-humans until I saw them there. Starving, weak, pathetic... collared and caged, just like the others. I freed the humans easily enough, but I remember standing in front of their cage, looking at these Salarians, the first ones I had ever seen outside of a vid or a monitor, looking at me with these big black eyes. All I saw was fear and despair. I couldn't _stand_ that look." Hale turned her attention back to the Counsel. "I shot the lock, picked the collars and freed them. And I remember one of them asking me 'why'? He hadn't expected to be saved by a human. I still remember my answer to this day. Been asked that question by Asari, Turian, Salarian, Quarian, even a Hanar, and I've yet to come up with a better reason why.

"I do it because someone else might have gotten it wrong." Hale smiled, and it was a good smile; one of conviction. "Let them come with their words and their spite. Let them use their petty ambitions and flaws. Let them bring their weapons and accusations. At the end of the day, the best judge of my actions will be the one staring back at me in the mirror, asking me why I'm not trying harder, why I'm not doing better. I already know the answer to those questions, because I've been answering it for years."

" _Then it is well, Agent_." Counselor Sparatus Quinlinus replied with a simple nod of his head. " _If the Systems Alliance refuses to sponsor you, then you shall enjoy the support of the Turian Heirarchy. Report to the Counsel at your earliest convenience so we can make it official and give you your first tasking... SPECTRE_."

"We... need to make a stop at Arcturus Station first. For my fallen." Hale replied, but saluted in acknowledgement. "We'll keep you updated." The holographic image of the Counselors faded into nothingness as the comms room lights illuminated brighter until they were at their normal level of brightness. The Lieutenant Colonel looked over to Saren and Nihlus and let off a deep breath, wiping at her brow plate, pantomining relief. "Fuck, that was intense. Did that just happen?"

"Yes it did." Nihlus Kryik answered with a broad smile, his mandibles wide. "Welcome to the club... sister."

"As long as you assholes know that you're buying the drinks, because evidently I'm driving the Goddamn cab there." Hale pointed out, making Saren chuckle. "Let me finish up with Anderson and the several condolence letters and awards I've got to write. It's going to be a couple busy days for me before I can get back on track of things."

"No worries, Commander. We're not going anywhere." Saren Arterius replied, nodding. And he meant it, too.

* * *

A/N: Admiral Khan Noonien Singh, I presume? KKKHHHAAANNNNNN!

I've likened the Geth to the updated version of the Cylons from Battlestar Galactia, and even had humanity similar to the Colonial Fleet from the show. The Galactica did not have networked systems to avoid Cylon hacking, to disrupt their systems and kill their ships; which is what happened to most of the other Battlestars during the first episode of the first season, during the Devastatation of of the Twelve Colonies. Considering that the STG, the Quarians, and even the Asari have some some incredible hackers, limiting electronic sabotage and espionage seems like a must. Even in this day and age, the American Military has many a Stand-Alone Complexes, non-network drives, and signal-less devices to prevent such things. To give you a taste, our radios are unhackable on a variety of levels, to include encryption strength, multi-frequency modulation, boosted signal strength varieties, time protocols, and the simple fact that we switch out the whole mess every week to something completely different, as oppose to the old Enigma machines, which were only switched out when it was painfully obvious that we had captured one and were reading German mail back in World War 2. If I remember correctly, electronic encryptology was actually invented by a woman in the thirties. Considering the opinion that military men had of women back then, she must have been smarter than Edison to make them listen to her.


	32. Exalted: Maiden Of Constant Sorrow

**Exalted: Maiden Of Constant Sorrows**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 31: Exalted, A Maiden Of Constant Sorrow

The Vanguard, Thorne System, Hawking Eta Cluster, April 4, 2183 1319 Zulu

The Doctor strode through the belly of the beast to the place of Zen.

The section of the great vessel was not a large one, as a majority of the ship was needed for its own purpose and designed, and only a limited amount of habitable space was available. The section she strode in was filled with the constant nagging of dark spaces and alien architecture that one found distrubing the corners of the eyes and the recesses of the mind if one paid attention too long. The shadowy corners of the great vessel loomed, as did the dusk of the thing, yet the Doctor paid it no mind as she went towards the one thing that truly mattered to her.

Ten tanks lined one of the walls, six of them occupied.

The Exalted went to the first tank, its contents filled with an emulsion fluid that was saturated with nutrients, amino acids, stimulants, steroids, and megavitamins, medical tubing floating in the fluids along with its occupant. The subject was sleep, as it had been its entire life, floating in stasis as the Doctor placed a cyan hand up the tanks' glass, pressing her fine-scaled flesh against the ceramic glass barrier, unable to come any closer to the nude figure that rested within, curled in a semi-sleeping position. The figure shook slightly as the Doctor placed a hand upon the tank, and though the subject did not awaken, the Doctor liked to think that the subject inside knew she was there.

"Sleep well, my love, let not dreams trouble you." The Exalted's voice soothingly whispered as she gaze upon the oldest of the subjects, the one that, in her betrayed heart, she loved most. "How I wish I could show you the oceans, from where life began. To hear the crashing of the surf, the foam washing upon the beach, the call of seabirds on their hunt for food, the sight of fish leaping from the waters. Life... begins in water, my love, nurtured and treasured, braving evolutionary steps to take its place at the forefront of civilizations. So it was with the Thessians, the Sur'keshians, the Palavenians, the Khar'shanians, the Kahjens, the Rhakanans, the Dekuunans, the Tuchankans, the Irunians, and the Terrans. Water is life, and life is water. Evolution begins with the simplest of single-celled organisms wading in primordial ooze, nurtured by the life-giving liquid in which it makes its home. We ourselves are born in water, floating in amniotic fluids until, like evolution, it is our time to take our first steps into the greater world." The figure inside the tank shifted, a hand sliding from a shoulder, lowering itself to its chest, covering its heart. "I love you, too, my dear daughter."

The Doctor smiled as she placed a hand on her thickened waist, the bulge of her belly prominent for all. It had grown several inches in the past week, and she knew that soon it would be time for labor. That though had a stab of fear enter her heart, seeing her six daughters in their tanks, never having been awake in their lives. Her eldest was only three years of age, yet looked to be a Daughter on the verge of Maidency, sixty years of age. Her younger sisters were of varying ages, all greatly accelerated, the youngest looking as if a child ready for Primacy School, despite only being ten month old.

 _Oh, what waves have we wrought, your sire and I?_ The Doctor thought to herself sadly as she rubbed at her expanded belly, thinking of the seventh child she had born in three and a half years. _For the sake of life, we court death. To promise a future, we destroy hope. To guarantee a future for all Daughters, we must give up our own._ The Exalted thought sadly as the shadows of the great vessel began to press in on her, the weight of it giving her such a headache. She moaned, knowing what would come next. Darkness and shadows consumed her sight and swallowed her mind as she shivered, no longer herself.

 **EXALTED, I HAVE NEED OF YOU.**

The Exalted dropped her hand from her abdomen and walked towards the Command Deck of the Vanguard, teal eyes surrounded by red.

* * *

The Command Deck was occupied by one solitary figure sitting upon the Throne, lounging against the seat that put her in the Influence, electric-blue eyes surrounded by the redness of the Influence as the figure controlled all that the Vanguard had to give save for the Vanguard itself. In front of the Throne was a lone monitor, made of material not known to either the species of the figure on the throne, nor the Thessian Doctor, showing a gas giant in perfect clarity, almost as if it could be physically touched and held. The Doctor moved to the side of the Throne, folding her hands behind her back as her Thessian Silk dress whispered at her ankles as she went still, her reddened eyes looked upon the monitor, larger than any screen she had ever seen before boarding the Vanguard three and a half years before.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The Exemplar on the Throne asked rhetorically, her gaze only for the monitor as she looked upon the swirls of browns and tans of the clouds of the gas giant. "Beneath the embrace of this planet is one of the Kin, Doctor. Resting away, awaiting the day that the Vanguard would have need of it. Today, my good Doctor, is that day."

"It is well, Commander." The Exalted replied, her hands at her back as she looked at the monitor, studying the planet. "Mnemosyne?"

"After years of searching, the machine race finally found what we've been searching for eons." The Exemplar smiled, the redness of her corneas glowing with Influence as she returned her sight to the gas giant. "Thirty-seven million years ago, the Zorn built their last-ditch plan in the form of a gigantic mass-accellerated cannon that fired enough Element Zero that it actually created a miniature black hole when it struck the Kin." The Exalted was impressed, the paleo-technologist in her marveled at the significance in industry and science to make such an accomplishment. The paleontologist in her wanted to search for any signs of the Zorn, to discover a species eradicated. The Exalted in her simply didn't care, and the thrill disappeared. "The Kin has been hiding in the gas giant for eons, waiting the day that another of the Kin would return to repair it. As we speak, Geth repair drones are going over the structure, doing what they can to return the Kin to activation status, mining for necessary minerals and materials out of this systems pathetic asteroid belt. With the Dyson Particle Accelerator now on-line in the Tikkun System, perhaps we can create enough Anti-Matter fuel to revive the Kin."

"And the Beacon?" The Doctor asked, curiosity surfacing through the Influence.

"A success." The Exemplar smiled, a pale shadow of the woman she once was, one of the most feared warriors of her kind, notorious throughout the galaxy for such a short span of years. "Not only was I able to glean some more of the steps and protocols that the damnable Protheans were doing during the last gasps of their meager existences, but also an indication of where to go next." The fire-haired human female frowned for a moment. "Unfortunately, I was unable to understand _why_ the Servants deny the Influence. Without them, the only remaining approach is a direct approach. Even with the machine races' fleets and the Vanguard itself, the Main Relay is manned with considerable firepower."

"Which is why we have searched for another of the Kin." The Doctor replied, understanding. She only knew what she had been told, useful for her knowledge of Prothean architecture, technology, and culture, as well as the ability all Asari were born with; to meld minds. It was her that figured out how to trace another of the Vanguards' kind, tracing the Great Klendagon rift and studying the planets' past rotations in alignment with previous cycles. "With two of the Kin, a direct approach has a better chance of success."

"Oh, a direct approach is all well and good if one wishes to show their hand off." The N7 smiled, a vicious sight. "If I've learned anything about war, is that fear is a weapon more powerful than a Dreadnought. One cannot spring a trap without putting out bait first, after all." The Exalted merely nodded, never a student of war. That was why the Exemplar had been chosen by the Vanguard; a warrior without equal. "The Geth on the Kin tell me that repairs can be done with by the end of the month. We can leave this dismal system by the end of the week for our next move."

"We may potentially have a problem, Commander." The Doctor cleared her throat as the N7 finally turned from the monitor, the redness of her eyes fading slightly. "I had left monitoring devices around the area of the Beacon on Eden Prime while you were interacting with it for reference in case of future difficulties with Prothean Devices." The human female waved the explanation away, unimportant in the scheme of things. "They were left on when we evacuated, and continued to record. I have just received an update from them."

"A recent update?" The Commander asked, frowning. An Anti-Matter Bomb had been left behind to destroy the Beacon, as well as putting the Systems Alliance Military into a scramble. The detonation of such a device would unquestionably strain relationships between the Citadel and the Systems Alliance, possibly even ensuring a separation. At the very least, a vast majority of the Alliance Military would be confined to the Exodus Cluster for defense and protection, since it was the only way to reach Arcturus Stream as well as the Sol Cluster.

"That is correct, Commander." The Doctor replied. "It seems that a small team of Turians and Humans were able to fight their way to the Spaceport and deactivate the Bomb." The Commander growled at that, the failure obviously displeasing her. The Thessian knew that the N7 had encountered a SPECTRE on Eden Prime, but had shot him through his mouth and out the back of his head. SPECTREs were a worry; one would undoubtedly bring more, disrupting carefully-laid plans.

"Show me." The Commander ordered, and the Doctor waved a hand over to the monitor, using the Influence granted to her to make Mnemosyne disappear as a recording of standard quality came, slightly distorted by the transfer from Eden Prime to the Thorne System via comm bouys and extranet relays. The picture came up, showing the dock in which the Beacon had been secured at by several Geth warforms, being taken out assault style. ""Hmm, two Turians and two Humans in a Human room-clearing procedure." The Exemplar commented, and then held up a hand, pausing the vid. "Enhance, left side, middle section." The image zoomed in on one of the Turian figures, and the Commander studied it for a short moment. "That's the Turian I shot in the face. Saren. Saren Arterius." The Commander announced.

"Saren Arterius is a well-known name, a well-regarded SPECTRE with two decades of service to the Counsel." The Doctor filled her companion in, making the fire-haired human woman grunt.

"Broke my own rule, it seems; didn't give him a second shot to be sure." The N7 mused to herself, mulling over the image. "Minimize and continue playing." The vid came back to full screen as they watched as a helmetless human female moved towards the Anti-Matter Device that the Commander had planted. "Shit. That's an N7, there. A _female_ N7. Last I heard, there's only seven, and I know all of them."

"Can you tell who it is?" The Doctor asked, knowing that the Commander would be concerned if it were a particular N7.

"It's not Vas or Val; too tall, not a blonde." They watched as the N7 attempted to diffuse the bomb with some holographic dials. "DuPris has black hair, and Riley is taller; that one looks to be about average height. Lawson, perhaps? She's almost a supra-genius, and I can see her defusing a ticking bomb." The tone of the Exemplar's voice became chipper as the identity of the N7 in question was narrowed down. "The bomb being defused would be Lawson's work. Lawson paired up with a SPECTRE? Could it be that the Counsel is finally giving Humanity a shot at the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance? Lawson's got the skills for it, but not the mindset. Too much of a perfectionist and an idealist. Plus, she's Cerberus. Even Cerberus wouldn't chance one of their Operatives being discovered."

"Who is the other woman, the one in the white-and-pink armor?" The Thessian studied the image as the N7 continued to crack the bomb's encryption.

"Colonial Army, guessing by that Mattock. Picked up a stray, I imagine." The Commander shrugged. "Lawson's got some heavy toys. Typhoon? Piranha? She's always been more of a submachine gun girl, liked her lighter..." The N7 frowned, and the Doctor looked to the Exemplar as her eyes began to glow red. "That's... not... _fucking_... _**LAWSON**_!"

The bomb had been defused, and the Thessian could see that the N7 in question was standing up... and lighting a cigar. She had melded with the Commander many a times to know her memories in and out, and she could easily recall the only woman the Lion had ever known to smoke cigars. Arcturus Gold Labels, to be specific.

Jen's favorite.

"What are you doing, sister? Did... did the Alliance finally give you your chance?" The redness disappeared completely as Commander Jane Shepard leaned forward on her Throne, her electric blue eyes only on the monitor as she looked upon the image of her adopted sister, the first proof of life she had of Jennifer Hale in four years, ever since... ever since she had discovered the Vanguard in the Ma-at System. "Are they giving Humanity a chance? Are you to be our First SPECTRE?" For a brief moment, the Doctor could hear pride in the voice of the Lion, see a smile of the woman who had once existed. "I can imagine it now, Grissom singing your hosannas while you sip scotch out of the Glorious One's skull, using his pig of a son as a footstool." That almost had the Thessian smile, trying to imagine the Butcher of Torfan carving the Batarian Emperor's scalp into a cup. Knowing Hale from Shepard's memories, it might be possible that the Daughter of Mindoir would probably cast his head in bronze and mount it as a trophy. "My sister, the SPECTRE." The smile died slowly from the Commander's face as she looked down to her hands, where she could undoubtedly see the micro-circuitry that laced through both of their bodies. "Saren recognized me... and he survived. Jen defused that bomb. That means she knows I'm alive. She will put the pieces together, Liara. Sooner or later, my sister will come for us."

"Perhaps we could tell her the truth." Dr. Liara T'soni offered, which made the N7 snort.

"We're about to rape the entire _galaxy_ , and you want the Daughter of Mindoir in on it?" Shepard shook her head sadly. "No, I do not wish this on her. I know what we do is right, but... our paths have been separated by fate, and will not intertwine anymore." Liara put a gentle hand on Jane's shoulder, comforting her. She knew exactly how the Commander felt, to wish _someone_ from before would understand, but the price of it was too terrible, too disastrous. "Oh, that fuck stick is there." The Doctor looked up to the monitor to see a Human male appear, apparently in a screaming match with Jennifer Hale. It took her a moment to recognize the man from Shepard's memories; Mark Meer. "Someone got stupid and put my sister in the same planet with Meer? I'm surprised she hasn't splattered him all over the fields yet." Liara almost smirked at that, seeing some of the memories about Meer; man was a racist, a sexist, and a self-absorbed chauvinistic pig. The galaxy could do without such morons. The screaming match continued until Meer pushed Hale, making the N7 stumble backwards and trip over the very bomb she defused.

And then they both watched as Hale got pulled into the Beacon.

"No..." Commander Jane Shepard whispered as she watched with wide eyes, seeing Hale growing brighter and brighter until the Beacon exploded, tossing everyone and destroying the monitoring device, leaving nothing but static. "NO! Did she survive? DID SHE?" Shepard turned on Liara quickly, her eyes blazing hot as the Influence burned in Liara's blood, causing the Thessian to gasp in agony as she was controlled. "TELL ME!"

"I... do not know!" The Doctor replied, gasping for breath as the Influence passed, causing her to fall to her knees weakly. "Alliance Forces Network would broadcast if Hale were to have perished. She is as notorious as you, after all."

"That is true." Shepard returned to the Throne, swiping her hand at air to return the monitor to the sight of Mnemosyne. "Our time table is changing, Doctor. If Jen survived, that means that she has received the same information as I. While she may not have a Protheantologist at her side, it is possible she could find someone to help her."

"Someone who hasn't had their memories stolen and their minds flayed?" Laira asked, amused. She couldn't even recall how many of her fellows and colleges she had consumed.

"True. But there are plenty of equally-intelligent beings in the galaxy that can still point in the right direction given sufficient evidence." The Commander shrugged. "I think we've spent enough time babysitting the Kin. As you say enough, the tides wait on no one, and it's high time we moved to our next phase, Doctor. Confer to the Consensus to bring in as many repair bots and miners to get the Kin activated as soon as possible. We cannot afford to wait for its activation in case Jen has survived and is able to bring together enough knowledge and intelligence to figure out our next moves. Vanguard! Take us to the Nemean Abyss." The Commanders' eyes blazed red and hot around her electric blue irises as the image of the gas giant Mnemosyne began to drift away, possibly imagining the Kin that laid under that soup of plastisic gases as the great vessel turned to the Relay to reach the portion of the galaxy only known as the Nemean Abyss.

* * *

A/N: Waitaminute... we're _not_ one step closer to the Reapers?

Title comes from Judy Collin's debut folk album and first song, 'Maid of Constant Sorrow', which in itself comes from a folk song from Dick Burnett, 'Man of Constant Sorrow', more famously known from Bob Dylan's treatment in the 60's and the Stinky Bottom Boys from 'Brother, Where Art Thou?'

Mnemnosyne - Derelict Reaper Mission location. Two Reapers? Yep, pretty much we're fucked.

Also notice the lack of 'Eden Prime was a success... bringing us one step closer to the Conduit?' line? Yeah.

Two shots to be sure - This was one of my rules during deployments. If someone earned a reason for the first bullet, the second one ensures success.

Most of this chapter is to debunk Matriarch Benezia's originally intro of somehow knowing the Beacon's survival and a human interacting with it. How did Benezia know of the Normandy, and Shepard getting brainfucked? Her involvement in the game was spotty at best; guiding Saren down a gentler path? How would an Asari know Saren needed guidance, why would she care, and why couldn't the Counsel see... oh, never mind about the (airquote) Counsel (airquote) bit.

Nemean Abyss - Though not mentioned in the game, it is shown on the galaxy map that in the inter-tract of the galaxy, in the northwestern quadrant near the core is an area that is dotted off and called the Nemean Abyss. It us unknown why this area is called as such, or even dotted off, as there is no system there. So going to own it now.


	33. Hale: Symphony

**Hale: Symphony**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to theorangeguy's 'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

Chapter 32: Hale, Symphony

SSV Normandy, Arcturus Station, Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream, April 4, 2183 0810 Zulu

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale was walking into the Cargo Bay of the SSV _Normandy_ when she ran into Staff Sergeant Ashely Williams, who was dressed in her BDU Colonal Green, working at the weapons bench when the Marine passed by her. She spied the Sergeant working on her M-96 Mattock, the weapon disassembled and being thoroughly cleaned, and the N7 slowly approached the bench from the side, making sure that Williams saw her coming as oppose to accidentally startling the woman. Ash looked over and gave a nod before returning her attention to her Mattock as she took a cleaning rod with a brush attached and began to scrub the barrel thoroughly, ramming it in and out several times before extracting the rod and putting the barrel to her eye to sight down it, looking for any foreign debris. She scrubbed it again until the Staff Sergeant was satisfied with her work, twisting off the barrel brush and attaching swab attachment. The Colonial Army woman was efficent at her work as she pushed a swab through the slot, dripping some cleaning fluid on the cotton cloth and began lubercating the barrel before pulling out the pad and replacing it with a dry one, swabbing it once more to remove excess fluid. The barrel went back to her eye, and she grunted in satisfaction, setting the barrel aside and picking up the upper receiver.

"Hard at work, I see, Williams." Hale commented as she folded her arms under her breasts, leaning against the weapons bench as she watched the Sergeant take an air hose and began blasting air into the upper reciever to blow out any dirt, dust, and contamination.

"Yes, ma'am." Ash replied simply enough as Hale found herself looking at the Mattock. The M-96 was a good, reliable weapon, based off of the M-90 Maddox back when weapons were still copper-tossers. The weapon was a semi-automatic rifle, sixteen shots until one had to lock the bolt back to despense waste heat, and was sturdy enough to smash into someone's face without screwing up the internal components, unlike the M-8 Avenger crap that Elkoss Combine put out; an obvious cheap knock-off of Hahne-Kedar's M-7 Lancer. That lawsuit was still in the courts, damn Volus, Hale thought to herself as she watched Williams stick a pinkie into the upper receiver and wiped the pad of her finger in the chamber, looking for residue.

"You know, we've got better weapons than the Mattock here, Sergeant." Hale finally said, making Ash frown. "It's a damn good weapon, don't get me wrong. But I saw what it was doing to the Geth, which wasn't much. Against some belligerant Batarian or some pirate trash, the M-96 is all you need. Out here in the black, it's going to leave you wanting, sadly." The N7 motioned for the Staff Sergeant to follow her as she went to the metal container that stood only a few meters away from the weapons bench. Hale put her thumb on the biometric scanner on the container door, unlocking it, revealing several pull-out weapons racks that were double-stacked one above another. Jen pulled out the first one to reveal a three meter long rack of assault rifles of various makes, models, designs, and manufacturers.

"Wow. This is the _Normandy's_ armory?" Williams asked after she let off an appreciative whistle as she looked at some thirty assault rifles, twelve on top, and eighteen on the bottom.

"Not exactly." Hale smiled as she turned to the Soldier. "This... is my personal armory. Every one of these weapons are mine." She almost laughed as she watched Williams' eyes almost bug out of her head. "Some were claims from my raids, but the rest are either bought and paid for... or are donations from various weapons manufacturers who are looking for endorsements and utility input from me."

"You... own... all of these? Holy shit." The Colonial Soldier was quite impressed. "And you've got six racks of weapons?"

"Rifles, shotguns, pistols, submachine guns, and specialty toys like my M-100 ERCS Grenade Launcher you got to play with on Eden Prime." Hale slapped the Assault Rifle rack back in and went to the last rack, which had exactly four weapons... and a large locked box with another biometric scanner. "This... this is my baby." The N7 knocked on the box, seeing Ash amused but interested. "This is the Cubans, the Cohibas, the Montecristos. It's capable of busting a bunker under the bunker that we just busted and putting a hole in a planet you can see from space. It's the Effel Tower, the Rachmaninoff's Third, the Peita. It's completely elegant, bafflingly beautiful, and with a kinetic-kill, mass accelleration of a two point five kilogram depleted uranium slug vehicle with a secondary cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine RDX burst with FAE effect, it's capable of reducing the population of any standing structure, as well as the structure itself, to zero." With that, Hale pressed her thumb on the biometric scanner, and the box opened up to reveal what was inside, giving the Sergeant a smirk. "I call it the Ex-Boyfriend."

"...is that a Cain?" Williams asked, going white.

"Yes it is." The N7 smiled, looking at the large M-920 anti-bunker weapon, painted a bright yellow with stencils to warn the dangers of using it. "I've used it exactly... once. Cost me seven hundred and fifty _thousand_ Credits, and each shot is worth twenty-five grand."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you used it on." Ash oogled the weapon as Hale racked the lever-action, opening it up to show that it was empty, as well as the large chamber that the slug would go in.

"Ever heard of a Turian named Elanos Haliat?" Williams shook her head, and the Marine wasn't surprised. "This was... back in '78, when the Skyllian Blitz was still in full swing. We had gotten some intel from raided pirates and mercs that the mastermind of the whole Assault on Elysium was linked back to this Turian named Haliat. Asshole Terminus Warlord wanted to reave Elysium, selling people to the Hegemony and to other Warlords, but we all know how well that worked out." The Sergeant nodded, obviously knowing the story of the Lion of Elysium. "So, me and Shepard and a few other N's track this fucker down to the Amazon Systen in the Voyager Cluster. What was the name of that hellhole? Agebinum? Agebinium? Something metallic... cold ass planet with xenon and carbon dioxide for an atmosphere, that I do remember." Hale winced at that memory. "This little sparkle of Palaven had dropped one of those Terraforming pre-fab colony structures on the planet and turned it into a headquarters, stuffed filled with pirates, mercs, mechs, defense towers, auto-turrets... place was a fucking death trap filled with Turians, Batarians, Humans, Krogan, and a couple of Drell snipers."

"Ouch. That sounds nasty."

"Yeah, especially when all we had was this transport Corvette with no Kinetic-Strike Kill Package capabilities because we went with a non-military ship to fly under the radar." Hale shook her head. "That was a dumbass idea. Eight N's looking at some four hundred goons and about a hundred and fifty Salarian WarMechs. That's not even a suicide mission; it's just plain suicide." Williams snorted at that. "But the guy still had a network of nasties, and we wanted his head on a platter for what he tried to do to Elysium. So I got... creative."

"And 'creative' involves a Cain?" The Sergeant asked, her voice amused.

"I'm many things, but subtilty isn't one of them." The Marine smiled as she continued. "We do a sub-orbital drop to avoid detection, and we walk like thirty kilometers from our landing zone to where the base is. Then we scope the place from a kilometer out, and we're all thinking the same thing; we need at least a battalion, and we're going to take some heavy losses. I get this idea, call up our ship, and tell them to drop the Cain and one round. Everyone thought I was fucking nuts." Williams' face indicated that she believed the N's were right, but Hale pretended not to notice. "Had to walk another five kilometers to grab it from a drop-pod, and then back. Loaded the only round I had at the time because it was all I could afford, and shot it right at the front door from over a kilometer away on the hopes we were far enough away from the splash damage."

"Did it work?" Ash was obviously riveted, and Hale noticed that a few of the Marines and Sailors that were in the Cargo Bay were discretely listening in as well.

"You could say that." The N7 remembered that day well, the last time she ever worked with her adopted sister. "Some fucking Batarian opened the door at the last minute, and the slug went _through_ him and into the building before it detonated." Ash winced. "It's designed to go through armor and then blow up, but put it through an opening... it exploded somewhere near the middle of the pre-fab. Ripped the whole thing to shreds; walls collapsed outward, metal was spewed out into the atmosphere, everything inside became outside. Pieces of twisted mech pieces were found as far away as ten kilometers, and we actually found one of the defenseive turrets not to far from our position where it landed. I think the largest piece of anything we found was about the size of my head, give or take." Hale ratched the level again, closing the M-920 Cain with a 'thwump!', placing it reverently back into its cradle and locking it up. "If you ever see me pull this puppy out and take one of the six DU rounds I've got? I've either found the motherfucker who truly deserves it, or we just landed in the middle of the worst case scenario... ever." Jen rammed the special weapons rack back into place, turning to Williams. "So, pick your poison, Ash. Assault rifle or shotgun?"

"You're giving me a rifle?" The Staff Sergeant looked amazed.

"Well... eventually give it back, but yes." Hale looked at the Colonial Soldier critically for a moment. "Let me guess? That Phoenix Armor of yours was paid out-of-pocket?"

"Yeah..." Williams winced. "Standard armor for the EPCA was the Devlon Industries Explorer Armor. That shit couldn't stop anything."

"Well, whatever the Geth were using, went through my Heavy Onyx like it was made out of paper." Hale pointed out, making the Sergeant nod. "I got some shit to attend to on Arcturus, one of them being looking into some better armor. If we're facing toasters in the future, we need some shit that will actually stop their rounds and protect our armors' VI's so our EMDs and MIDs can actually protect us like they're suppose to. I've got some of the best armor the Alliance has to offer, and I damn near lost a kidney. Tell you what, Ash, I'll hook you with a Mk. 3 Thunder Assault Rifle. It's a Turian Battle Rifle from Haliat Armory, but the Turians do know how to make a weapon. I've already modified it for human configurations, though I ripped out the auto-targeting software and the aiming assistance program... that shits' for Navy pukes that can't figure out which end of the rifle goes into their shoulder."

"I heard that. And... thanks." The Sergeant replied, looking a little embarrassed. "Don't think I've ever had an Officer that seemed to care so much about her men."

"Then remember this one, Sergeant; my Officers and NCO put their men first or I put my foot up their ass." Hale told the Colonial with enough steel in her voice to make sure the other woman understood the order. "I'm down Marines, and I'm not about to let you go to waste. You answer to Master Sergeant Maldonaldo and Lieutenant Alenko, and the Typhoon will make sure you're intergrated with the _Normandy's_ Marines. We get more men, and you'll be in command of them. Tracking?"

"Does this mean I have to remember more than three General Orders?" Ash smirked, and Hale found herself shaking her head and sighing.

Arcturus Station, the largest space station in the System Alliance, and one of the largest defensive stations in the galaxy. The home of the Alliance Parliament, it was a five kilometer Stanford Torus that was the permament home of 45,000 human beings. At any given moment, it was also the home of at least one of six Alliance Naval Fleets, currently Third Fleet under Rear Admiral Nitesh Singh. Yet during a month, it was possible for the population of the station to swell to as much as triple the normal amoung, and could berth as many as three Fleets.

For the most part, the Arc was where Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale called home.

Like a good many in the military, Hale was more or less a displaced resident of the Alliance, without a home to call her own. Ever since Mindoir, Jen had been either living out of ships like the SSV _Einstein_ , or the four years she had spent in Annapolis attending the Alliance Naval Academy there. She had quarters on Arcturus; correction, she had a bed in a room that probably would have been a broom closet back on Earth in Arcturus. Still, it was better than most of the lower Enlisted Personnel who either had to get a hotel room, or sleep on the ships they were assigned to.

For Jen, though, there was always one good reason to come to Arcturus.

The Lieutenant Colonel walked through the slightly curved corridors of the Arc wearing her DSU Alliance Blues and her black N7 hoodie, the hood down and her hands jammed in the front cargo pocket as Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams and Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko trailed her. They must have looked a sight; one in an N7 hoodie, another in DSU Blues, and the third in BDU Colonial Greens, walking down the main corridor of Arcturus. Yet thanks to Alliance Forces Network, their faces had been splashed about on just about every program, update, interview (between commentators, of course), and the ever popular Profiles in Courage. Williams had been a little shocked to find her face pasted on one vid monitor, several Sailors and Marines watching on as they described her life; being born on Sirona, basic in Brazil, training on Titan... and granddaughter to General Maxwell Williams. That had the Sergeant groan outloud until another monitor had one military commentator, a Naval Captain, comment on the practicality of abusing Staff Sergeant Williams about her grand-parentage when General Williams had fought the Turians for three weeks before surrendering because they had simply ran out of food. The same Captain then began lambasting General Scott Myers for _actively_ running away during a fight. Somehow, someone had captured Colonel Hale's conversation with the man when he had requested a personal evacuation... and her denial. That had been flying all over the AllianceNet.

 _Whoops_ , Hale thought to herself as they passed by another berthing area where another vid monitor showed, of all people, the person that Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale hated the most.

" _Hello, Alliance."_ Came the voice of Khalish Bint Sinan Al-Jilani, star reporter of Westerlund News. Hale's head whipped over to look at the monitor, stopping dead in her tracks as she found herself standing in a small plaza meant for Sailors and Marines to gather for available berths. _"This is Khalish Bint Sinan Al-Jilani of Westerlund News, and I am reporting to you live with an interview with none other than the Dragonslayer of Akuze, Commander Mark Meer. Good morning, Commander."_

 _"Good morning, Ms. Al-Jilani. Always a pleasure."_ Both reporter and Commander were standing in front of what appeared to be a busy dock with working Alliance personnel in the background, but Hale had seen it before; it was just a backdrop.

 _"Reports suggest that you were on Eden Prime during the Invasion. Could you explain to us your involvement?_ "

"Do _not_ do what I think you're about to do, you little fucking credit-stealing cocksucker." Hale seethed from out of clenched teeth, making Williams look at her questioningly. "Goddamn it."

 _"Of course, Khalish, I would be more than happy to."_ Meer smiled towards the camera, and Hale wanted to punch through the monitor and straight into the asshat's face. _"We had received a distress call from some of the beleagered forces of Eden Prime of an attack, and the vessel we were on was the closest to respond. Leading a team of forty Marines..."_

"He's doing it again..." Lieutenant Alenko said in a sing-song voice.

 _"...I diverted most of my forces to assist with the defense and evacuation of the civilian populous of Constant._ " Meer continued, his eyes shifting from the camera, to Al-Jilani, and back to the camera, that shit-eating smile of his never faltering. _"Those brave men and women forged through enemy-held territory to find groups of survivors, leading them to a defensible building for protection as they held off the brunt of the Geth forces. Yet it was truly the actions of just one person that made a difference..."_

"Himself?" Hale guessed, snorting, while Williams shooshed her.

" _Sergeant Thomas Benson_." The Commander explained, and Hale could see out of the corner of her eye Kaiden beginning to shake in rage. Sergeant Benson had been one of the Marines on Eden Prime, to be sure, but according to Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo and Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko's reports, Sergeant Benson had manned a defensive position... just like everyone else. His actions were impressive alongside everyone else's equally impressive actions. _"Sergeant Benson exemplified the traditions of the System Alliance Marine Corps by leading his squad through several brutal forays against Geth aggressors that sought to outflank the defenders."_

"That never happened!" Alenko growled, and one of the Sailors in the waiting area shooshed him without looking as the interview continued.

 _"I understand that there were several losses to the brave men and women aboard your vessel."_ The reporter's voice was _faux_ -sympathetic, oozing smile with her false smile.

 _"There were. Twenty-four Marines gave their lives evacuating civilians and defending them."_ The Hero of Akuze described. _"I'm proud of my Marines, who went above and beyond the call of duty. I'm just glad that they were able to do so while I dismantled the Anti-Matter Device that had been left behind by the Geth that would have leveled Constant had I not disarmed it."_

"Is this guy for fucking serious? Goddamn liar." Williams asked, vocally perplexed as several of the waiting Marines and Sailors looked over at her as Williams was practically shouting. Several of them were eyeballing her, and then their eyes went to Hale and her hoodie, and the Lieutenant Colonel could see lightbulbs going off in more than a few sets of eyeballs. Not too many female N's, and her face had sadly been on the news enough to make the scar that bisected her face notorious.

"Dude, that's the Butcher and Lone Wolf Williams." One Marine Corporal smacked the Marine next to him, pointing them out. Williams mouthed _Lone Wolf?_ to Hale, and the N7 merely shrugged. Sounded like the Alliance Military Public Relations Committee was already in full swing if the Staff Sergeant already had herself some sort of superhero name. Lone Wolf wasn't bad, all things considering. The Corporal had a few Marines and Sailors looking at the two woman while Kaiden Alenko merely shook his head, sighing. No nifty nicknames for Biotic Lieutenants, Hale guessed. The Coporal, whose nametape read 'Jordan, M.' approached them, a little bit on the tentative side. "Um... I'm Corporal Matthew Jordan, with AFN, ma'am. I do reports and interviews here on Arcturus. Would you mind doing an interview here with us, right now? Westerlund and Al-Jilani are a disgrace to reporters."

"You've just made a friend, Corporal." Hale smiled, looking over to Williams, who shrugged, and Alenko, who nodded slightly. "Sure. We can do that."

"Sorensen! Get your OmniCam ready!" Corporal Jordan shouted, and a Lance Corporal scrambled over, queuing up his Omnitool and creating a camera drone on the spot as Jordan queued up his own Omnitool, picking an app, the 'tool staying on. "Good day, Alliance. This is Coporal Matthew Jordan of Alliance Forces Network, and here with me today are three heroes of Eden Prime..."

Cpl. Matthew Jordan: Good day, Alliance. This is Corporal Matthew Jordan of Alliance Forces Network, and here with me today are three heroes of Eden Prime, back on Arcturus after the Invasion. Today, I shall be interviewing Lieutenant (junior grade) Kaiden Alenko of the Alliance Navy, Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams of the Eden Prime Colonial Army, and Lieutenant Colonel Jennfier Hale of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps. Thank you for being here today.

LTC. Jennifer Hale: Of course, Corporal.

SSG. Ashely Williams: A pleasure.

Lt. (jg) Kaiden Alenko: Charmed.

MJ: With the news of the Invasion fresh as Second Fleet continues to clear the last of the Geth resistance on Eden Prime, we've been receiving some intel that conflicts reports that were originally monitored. As all three of you were a part of the first responding vessel to the distress call, we would like to clarify what occured down on Eden Prime. What actually occurred?

JH: Ash?

AW: I can answer that, Corporal. My platoon, the Eden Prime 212, was on-site during the inital landing, and it was we that sent the distress beacon through an old tight-beam communicator. The first sign we had that something was wrong was our GTS batteries launching into space, and then a few seconds later, we received word from Eden Prime Command that our entire Air Force had been wiped out simultaniously. Thirteen Cruisers were destroyed by our own weapons. The 212 and 232 were stationed just to the north of Constant. The Geth started dropping thousands of warforms on us, converging on our positions as we tried to... (AW looks at JH, who eventually nods) Our mission was the protection and defense of an unearthed Prothean Beacon that had been discovered the week before.

MJ: A Prothean Device?

JH: That is correct. The SSV _Normandy_ was under orders for the retrieval of the Beacon. We were already in the Utopia System when we received the 212's distress beacon from Lieutenant Durand. The attack was already underway when we received it, and as the _Normandy's_ XO, I gathered my platoon of Marines, myself, Commander Meer, and two military advisors. We jumped in atmo with a MAKO and a UT-47.

MJ: And you went to the colony's aid?

JH: Kaiden?

KA: That's correct, Corporal. Colonel Hale split us up into two teams; one led by herself, and the other led by myself and Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo, the Typhoon of Eden Prime. My team worked its way into the capital of Constant itself, engaging Geth forces while finding survivors. We eventually took over a Colonial Municipal building that was armed with four Benson-Rothchild autoloader turrets on its roof, and used it as a staging point and a defensive position. We had been collecting surviving civilians, as well as Eden Prime forces, Police Officers, militiamembers, and other civil service personnel. The Eden Prime 222 were instrumental, having used buildings and alleyways to hold of Geth advances before we reached them, and adding their firepower to our own. There was also Lieutenant Parkerson and his Police SWAT Sniper Team as well. Watching five snipers working in concert is a beautiful thing.

MJ: Reports suggest that because of the efforts of the _Normandy's_ Marines, that over six thousand civilians were protected by some eighty brave men and women.

KA: That is correct, but there were others who were just as important. There were a few EMT's and off-duty nurses who were seeing to everyone's needs, a Colonial Administrator who was keeping people calm and together, acting as a civilian liasion, and a small team of civilian construction workers that helped out shoring defenses and fixing breaches in our position while we held off the Geth. There were a good many men and women who helped out that might not have been wearing the uniform, but were acting in a manner that makes me proud to be a part of the Alliance.

MJ: It's good to remember that everyday heroes live among us, men and women who will step up when needed. Colonel? What was your part in the Invasion?

JH: As Lieutenant Alenko explained, I split the teams, in which my objective was the Prothean Beacon. It was pretty obvious that the Device was the true objective of the Geth. Denying the enemy of what it wanted was my job.

MJ: Who was a part of your team, Colonel.

JH: Myself, Commander Mark Meer, and two military advisors. Our primary objective was the retrieval and protection of the Prothean Beacon.

MJ: Two military advisors? (pause) Mercenaries?

AW: Not quite. (JH has finger in right ear)

JH: You sure? I mean... wow. Okay. (turns to camera) Okay, I just talked to them, and they cleared me to discuss who and what they are.

MJ: Which is?

JH: Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik. Office of Special Tactics and Reconniassance.

MJ: You were working with Counsel SPECTREs?

JH: I've been working with them for the past few weeks, now. They've been... evaluating me.

MJ: For what, ma'am?

AW: Duh. Connect the dots.

MJ: ...holy {CENSORED}.

KA: I'd say that sums it up, Corporal.

MJ: So... you, a pair of SPECTREs, and Commander Meer went to retrieve the Beacon?

JH: Correct, Corporal. Just had to shoot through about... what was the kill count again, Ash?

AW: You had eighty-seven, ma'am. I have thirty-eight.

JH: Only a few hundred or so Geth. And a few dozen of those husk things.

MJ: Husks?

AW: The Geth were impaling bodies of Soldiers and civilians onto these spikes that converted them into... robozombies. It was sick as hell. Some of them were my friends. Never seen anything like it. Their skin was... electronic... just falling off... (turns away)

JH: Kaiden, can you...? (KA escorts AW off screen) I apologize for that, Corporal. She lost her entire unit to the Geth, and found the 232 converted into husks. We had to put them down. It was traumatic as hell. Probably a lot of people on Eden Prime saw the same thing and are going through the same difficulties as Sergeant Williams. What she survived matches the worst I've ever seen and been through. She's tough as they come, but what we saw on Eden Prime was... very disturbing. Impaled bodies meters in the air, watching them as they lower down on the ground, their flesh just slipping off to expose some sort of hardened skin with wiring as they rushed us, trying to bite us. It was... {CENSORED} up. (KA and AW return) You okay, Ash?

AW: Five-by-five, ma'am. (JH stares at AW) All I need is time and friends. And a {CENSORED}load of alcohol.

JH: I'm buying.

MJ: You were explaining on how you were retrieving the Beacon.

JH: Yes. We found the Beacon at the Constant Spaceport, where the Geth had moved it from its original site from where the 212 were positioned, having taken it to a loading dock, and then to the Spaceport itself. After plowing through a few dozen of them...

AW: You and that mammoth shotgun of yours. (KA snorts)

JH: Hey, I loaned you my grenade launcher, didn't I? (AW smiles) We found the Beacon in what appeared to be a position for pick-up...

AW: Not before Meer ran off like a little bitch, though.

MJ: ...could you say that again?

AW: When we reached the Spaceport, there was about twenty or so Geth warframes protecting the entrance. We had to scrambled off the Tram. I'm hiding behind a pedestrian barrier, Saren's stuck behind a desk counter, Nihlus is ducking by this conveyor belt, and Colonel Hale here is parked behind a soda machine... and Meer is running for the hills.

MJ: He... retreated?

JH: I might be inclined to call it that if he had fired his gun _once_ during our entire expedition on Eden Prime. (pause) Commander Meer was not present during our battle of the Spaceport, when we cleared it of Geth, defused the Anti-Matter Bomb...

AW: That was so badass, ma'am. I was sweating, though.

MJ: Who did defuse the bomb if Commander Meer wasn't there? (both AW and KA point at JH) Really? I mean... that is impressive, ma'am. I just didn't expect you to know how to do that.

JH: I took Explosive Ordinance Disposal courses... (pause) ...after Torfan. Vowed not to let my men die from bombs again. Paid off hacking a fifty megaton Anti-Matter Bomb with just one second left.

MJ: One second?

AW: Oh, yeah. One fricking second left. And then she lit up a cigar.

JH: Hey, I shared!

KA: Where's my cigar?

JH: When you're old enough, Lieutenant. (KA blushes, AW laughs) So, yeah, defused the bomb. Got the Beacon. Rode off in the sunset... Eden Prime's going to be a long time before those scars heal. No matter how good we did, how we showed up when the colony needed us most... lives were still lost, families torn apart, people we swore to protect that we failed. (AW slowly nods, KA places hand on AW shoulder) I'm glad that we were there, right when we were. But there were a lot of people that weren't helped or saved, not because we weren't doing enough, but there was no possible way we were going to beat off a Geth army with forty-two people. I'm damn proud of Lieutenant Alenko, Master Sergeant Maldonaldo, and the Marines of the _Normandy_ for stepping up. I'm damn proud of the EPCA for fighting as well as it did against a planetary ambush against a machine race that hacked _everything_. I'm damn proud of the citizenry of Eden Prime that kept its {CENSORED} together, found ways to survive, and banded together when it was needed most. There will be scars and nightmares from what the Geth did, but there are also examples of those who stood tall and proud when it was needed most, and made it count. Sergeant Williams was one of those, as was Lieutenant Eric Parkerson, Constant Counsular Hakim Al-Jazir, Staff Nurse Miriam Lovell and her team, and the men of the H+G Construction Company. Without them, we would have failed.

AW: I... I know it's hard to think that we call it a victory when so many lost so much. My platoon... they were my friends, my brothers and sisters, and I watched them all die. (pause) Yet the Geth probably didn't expect us to fight back so well, for us to survive. They wanted that Beacon and Constant wiped off the face of Eden Prime. Neither happened because of the _Normandy_ , and because of them, we were able to find a way to survive. For those who lost a loved one, don't forget who did this to us. Because I'm sure as hell am going to make sure the Geth remember they {CENSORED} with the wrong colony. (AW wipes tear away) For the Alliance and Eden Prime.

KA: For the Alliance and Eden Prime.

JH: Mother{CENSORED}ing revenge time. (AW laughs, KA snorts, shakes head)

MJ: One last question for you, Colonel. (JH grunts) Earlier, you identified that you were working with two Counsel SPECTREs, and that they were evaluating you. It was eluded that... well...

JH: You can say it out loud. I won't bite.

MJ: Are you a SPECTRE?

JH: Humanity's First.

MJ: ...holy {CENSORED}. You're Humanity's First SPECTRE?

JH: For the past twenty-nine hours. You're actually the eighth person to know. Y'know, after the Counsel, my SPECTRE mentors, my CO, and my poor yeoman whose going to be fielding my overfilled databox in the next five minutes or so. Poor Petty Officer Halverson. She's going to have a nervous breakdown.

MJ: And there you have it, folk, from the Heroes of Eden Prime! Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko, Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams, and Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale... Humanity's First SPECTRE. I'm Corporal Matthew Jordan, and this is AFN.

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale walked through the corridors of Arcturus Station, having finished the interview a few minutes before with Corporal Jordan, with Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams and Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko still trailing her. Walking by a small shopping kiosk area showed a few more monitors that featured her face, along with the marquee 'Humanity's First SPECTRE?' scrolling underneath it. She snorted at the sight, watching as some MSGBC talking head questioned the validity of 'the Butcher' being a SPECTRE, and if she were right for the job. It made her think of what Counselor Sparatus Quinlinus told her earlier that day, how her own kind would turn on her. Hell, looked like it was already beginning.

She pushed the thought away. Jen wasn't about to ruin a good day with such thoughts.

"So... where are we going?" Williams asked, looking at some of the wings of the Station, frowning as they began passing more residential areas. "Personal quarters?"

"Eventually, but not right now." Hale replied over her shoulder as she took a left towards a door that hissed open when she approached it. She didn't doubt that both Lieutenant and Sergeant saw the sign that was over the door they had just entered, answering a part of Ash's question. The Soldier whispered to the Sailor ' _schoolhouse?_ ' and only got a questioning grunt from the Lieutenant. Not many people knew, after all. Hale had made sure of it. The corridor she walked down had doors on either side and in rapid succession, the rooms only mean to fit about forty people in each, space still so valuable, even on a station as large as the Arc. Hale found the room in question and looked at the chronometer on her Omnitool and smiled. _Right on time._

School got out.

Doors opened on either side of the hall and gaggles of school children poured from the rooms, ranging from ages of five to eighteen, the younger grades closer to the doors where the school's exit was, while the older kids would have to wait for their younger companions made their way through. The door that Hale waited by was simply labeled '8', and she saw thirteen- and fourteen-year old boys and girls exiting the room, most of them barely registering that a woman with a green beret and an N7 hoodie stood in their line of sight.

One girl did notice.

"Mom!" A thirteen year old young woman ran forward with her arms outstretched as Jen got down to one knee and embraced her daughter tightly, catching her as they collided, laughing as she hugged the young woman. "I saw the reports on Eden Prime. I was worried about you."

"I know, baby. That's why I came. You know my deal." Jen told the thirteen year old as she pulled away slightly, seeing blue eyes staring back at her, dark hair held back by individual hairbraids past the crown of her head, making twelve braided pony tails that hung behind her head and down her neck. "New look?"

"New fashion." Her daughter's bottom lip pouted out a little bit. "It's called 'the Crest'." That had Jen understanding the pout; the hair fashion was to emulate an Asari's crest, and the young woman didn't know if her mother would approve. She could see it now that it was identified to her, and saw that the tails were meant to curve slightly upward.

"It's not bad. At least it isn't bright blue." Jen eyeballed a girl from her daughter's class that not only had the same hair style, but had dyed it a cruelean blue. That didn't look good at all. "Nothing wrong with trying stuff out to see if you like it or not." A cleared throat behind her reminded her that she wasn't alone, and she turned to see Ashley Williams standing there with her arms folded and Kaiden Alenko smiling in amusement. "Right, introductions. Katie, this is Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams of the Eden Prime Colonial Army," the Soldier nodded, "and Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko, my Marine Platoon Leader. This little hellion here is my daughter, Katherine."

"Hi." The young woman was practically staring at the Naval Lieutenant. "He's hunky." Katie whispered to her mother perhaps too loudly, because Kaiden looked faintly embarrassed.

"Katie..." Jen growled, Ash chuckling behind one of her hands as she smile.

"Reminds me of my youngest sister, Sarah." The Soldier commented, still chuckling. "She's in high school on Sirona. 'Hunky' is a new term, though. Gonna have to use it." Kaiden groaned outloud as Hale just shook her head, making Katie giggle. "At least you're not dressing like an Asari. Little too young for that."

"Ugh. Don't remind me." The Lieutenant Colonel shook her head. "C'mon, kiddo. We've... got some catching up to do. A lot's happened since I was here last a few weeks back."

"Ice cream?" The young woman asked, all smiles.

"Definitely." Jen looked to her two subordinates. "You guys up for sundaes? I'm buying."

A/N: Sergeant Williams' cleaning procedures are taken from the same procedures on how to clean an M-16/M-4 rifle. Would a weapon that needs no gun powder and possibly no rifling need to be cleaned in such a way? It is the military, and I'd expect that the answer would be 'yes' regardless.

Copper-tosser - A term I invented for bullet-using weapons as oppose to Mass Effect technology. In reference to the copper full metal jacket that rounds are covered in. Invented back in Mass Effect vs. Aliens 2: Valkyrie Rising, Chapter 14: The Sons and Daughters of Anarchy

The first time I heard the 'Ex-Wife' speech by Sam Rockwell on Iron Man 2, I seriously almost peed myself due to laughter. The whole weapons bit is pretty hilarious, but the 'Ex-Wife' was the tops. So I stole it.

I know that in Mass Effect, Elanos Haliat was a human, but considering he refers to Shepard and 'his/her kind' (humanity), wears a Kuwashii visor like Turians do, and has a flanged voice, Elanos was originally suppose to be Turian, but BioWare put in a human model. I changed a bit of the history (as I kill him pre-'83) to make it seem more realistic why he would want to assault Elysium with such a large force other than 'prestige'.

Three General Orders - Based on the US Army's Three General Orders, as oppose to the USMC's Eleven General Orders. No, I don't know what the Marine General Orders are, though I mentioned two of them earlier. For you non-military types, the General Orders primarily deal with Guard Duty.

Um... Jen Hale has a kid? Stay tuned in, true believers!


	34. Arterius: Pandorum

**Arterius: Pandorum**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

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Chapter 33: Arterius, Pandorum

Arcturus Station, Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream, April 4, 2183 1015 Arcturus

Saren Arcturus strode through the corridors through the station that Humans called 'the Arc', surrounded by too many of the Human species. It hadn't been so long since he had been around anything of his kind save Nihlus Kryik, perhaps only a week, but being stuck in a ship filled with Humans and then the stress of Eden Prime, not to mention being shot in the face, hadn't made things easier for him. Nihlus had already brought up the possibility that his Pandorum was getting worse, something that he was more readily suseptible to than most Turians. He had visited a nice female during his stay on Pinnacle just to talk to, but nothing else. Evidently, talking hadn't been enough. Unfortunately, the SSV _Normandy_ had docked at Arcturus Station; the central headquarters of the Systems Alliance, almost as important to the Human race as London. The Turian presense on the Arc was quite limited; a dozen, in fact, and probably not what would be needed to suit his condition.

Being surrounded by monkeys wasn't helping.

Saren visited the Turian Embassy in the Arc, and found it to be a sad waste of time; the four Turians that were working in the small office had all fawned upon him like barefaced fodder, and all it did was irritate him further. What he needed was companionship; friends, family, someone he could talk to. It was hard for Turian SPECTREs, as they often required a crew to help them run a ship, and it wasn't easy aquiring the necessary individuals who could be properly vetted and had the necessary skills needed. Sadly, while the Heirarchy had many soldiers and sailors, many were needed to fill the necessary roles for the Fleets, Planetary Defenses, C-Sec, civil services, and a thousand other citizenship tiers. The other problem was that most Turians served their initial conscription oaths and moved on to other tiers, becoming businessmen, merchants, guards, mechanics or other requirements. A good many went out into the galaxy to strike their fortunes in other ventures; mercenaries, pilots, private security, piracy, slavers, guns-for-hire, or thugs. Working for a SPECTRE was a prestigious position, but with over a hundred Turian SPECTREs, the available pool of necessary individuals was always smaller than the actual number that was on hand. Even now, his ship and crew was under the command of Agent Lesux Remanius. Truthfully, it wasn't his ship, since there were only sixty-four available ships fully crewed for Turian Agents. Which was better than what the forty-two Salarian Agents had with their measly nineteen ships, not even half. Despite Blackwatch members, STG Agents, and Huntresses, finding beings good enough to serve alongside SPECTREs that were willing to risk their lives at such ventures were quite rare. On more than a few occasions, Saren had to rely on hiring vetted mercenaries, which was both expensive and risky.

Hale wouldn't have too many issues, Arterius thought to himself, being the only Human SPECTRE. Then again, her government was a bunch of sirefucking, barefaced cowards.

"Saren! Hey! Palaven to Arterius!"

The Turian SPECTRE stopped walking to turn and see Commander Jennifer Hale sitting at a table at some sort of parlor with a couple of her crewmembers and... a hatchling? The sight surprised him, though he recognized Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko and Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams easily enough. The four Humans were sitting at a table, scooping something out of glass dishes that looked to be... ugh, some sort of solidified milk formed into spheres resting on top of yellowish tubers that looked like a... _vnark._ Spirits! What was up with Human dietary needs! Still, the N7 Marine was waving him over with her stubby five talons, indicating for him to join them. The Palavenian sighed but took up the offer. Some company was better than roaming the Arc surrounded by Human strangers.

"Looking lost, Saren. Pull up a chair!" Hale offered, and Arterius grabbed a nearby empty chair, spinning it backwards so he was able to sit in it, Human chairs not designed for Turian spurs. "I think this place has dextro chocolate, since we're eating sundaes. It's treat time, and you look like you could use some company."

"I don't..." He was about to say that he didn't eat chocolate because it was a waste of money and time, but he thought about his condition, and admitted that perhaps a change would be nice. "I don't see why not." Hale smiled as she waited at a waitress and pointed him out, and then did something curious with her hands, as if she were breaking something in half. Saren saw the 'sundae' that the Humans were eating, and tried to wonder what the point was of eating something that wasn't nutritional or... well, he had heard of the Human 'sweet tooth'. Perhaps they had a fang that craved candies. He noted that the hatching, a young Human female, was looking at him with big brown eyes, almost studying him. Her fur-crest did actually look like a crest, with plastic pinchers holding it in a fashion similar to an Asari's crest. "And you are?"

"Katherine Hale. Call me Katie." The hatching stuck out her hand, and Saren remembered that Humans greeted by clenching talons and bobbing them up and down. He did so with her, careful with his sharp appendages. Then he realized that her name had been _Hale..._ Spirits! The Commander had a hatchling? He had no idea, and he looked at the small female, and then to the N7. Yes, he could see the clan-lines. Katie didn't look to be an adult yet, but he couldn't gauge Human ages well. Strange... Hale never mentioned her, and it certainly wasn't on her records. Why hide the fact she had a hatchling? His eyes flickered over to the Commander, who was using a metal apparatus to carve some of the yellow tube thing and the solidified milk, bringing it up to her mouth. Then he remembered the Combat Simulation Arena, what he had seen there. Jennifer Hale had been raped by seven different Human males, according to her rant to the race-traitor Meer.

The hatchling was about the appropriate age... she certainly wasn't tiny, like some Human hatchlings.

"Mom tells me that you're a SPECTRE." The hatchling continued, oblivious to the Turian's thoughts. "That is so Blasto! I've never seen a real-life SPECTRE before! You look bulk as all!"

"Well... thank you. I think." The hatchling certainly had a strange way of talking, not at all like the Humans on the _Normandy_. The hatchling talked at the speed as light as hatchlings were wont to do, seemingly excited to talk to him. He had never had a Human seemingly so excited to talk to a Turian. For some reason, his eyes shifted to the long fur growing on the top of her head, seeing it mimicking an Asari's crest. Was the hatchling like her mother, most understanding than her kin? Hale had been amicable enough when first meeting him, though he would say was initial just being polite before she talked to him enough to gauge him. He admitted to himself that he was initially just cordail with the then-Major, not knowing what kind of Human she would be. Yet in the hatchlings blue eyes, he could see genuine interest and curiosity. This was a hatchling born well after the Relay 314 Incident, about third generation or so. Would Humans her age be like Katie Hale, finding non-Humans... interesting?

"Mom was telling me all about you and her working together." Katie spoke, her words friendly, endearing almost, all the innocence of a hatchling before her military service, not a worry in the galaxy. "That's so Blasto! Mom was saying that you and the Counsel were finally giving Humanity a chance to really prove itself in the way it was suppose to. I'm glad it's my Mom. She cares." The admission suprised Saren for a moment; what hatchling didn't look up to their sire? Yet... it was obvious that while Katie knew how good her mother was, her prowess wasn't the term she used to identify the Commander, but her heart. She... cared. Sometimes, it really was that simple.

"She does." Saren agreed, nodding his head, seeing the hatchling taking another bite of her disgusting-looking sundae as a Human female came to their table dressed in a robe that match the colors of the the parlor, obviously an employee of the confectionary they were at. The waitress laid a plate in front of the SPECTRE, and the Turian saw several pieces of chocolate on his plate, and he took his talons and broke a piece off and put it in between his mandibles. He couldn't even remember the last time he had chocolate. Before the Cabal, certainly. It was better than he remembered, bitterly sweet with a satisfying crunch. The flavor of it was good, but it made him think of better times, his brother Desolas shaing chocolate with him back home on Taetrus. The memory was a comfort, and he ate his chocolate, feeling a little bit better. "She was there for me when I needed it." A talon touched the patch that was on his right cheek plate, indicating where he had been shot. "She was there when Eden Prime needed it."

"But I'm never there when she needs me." Hale spoke softly, her hand going to the back of Katie's neck, smiling sadly. "Made too many choices that deny me the chance to raise my own daughter. This one included."

"Mom, I understand. You know I do." The younger Hale replied, leaning her head over so that her cheek rested on her mother's arm. "I follow your exploits, and I keep the articles and interviews of you on my home terminal. I'm the only kid in all the Alliance with an N for a mom, and the three others that have Special Forces dads don't even get to see them. I know that you visit me every chance that you get, and Ira and Vivi take great care of me. There's a lot of people and kids less fortunate than me, so I don't blame you." Saren didn't know who Ira and Vivi were, but if he had to guess, then they were the hatchlings' caretakers. The conversation wasn't one that he was enjoying being a part of, seeing mother and daughter together, obviously estranged, yet they still loved one another. In a way, it shamed him that he was so distant with his own kind when it was obvious that Commander Hale wished only to be with her daughter but couldn't. And now she was a SPECTRE, undoubtedly an even more difficult road. "Besides, you're going to be a SPECTRE! How Blasto is that?" That had the older Hale woman laughing.

"Ugh. _Hated_ that movie." Ash inputted as she took a bite out of her sundae. "I know Hanar speech is weird, but that dialogue was attrocious!"

"' _This one cannot remember if it had filled up the maximum capacity of its heat sink.'_ " Kaiden deadpanned in a monotone, trying to inflect a Hanar's tone. "' _Does it feel its chances are good, scum?'_ " Saren groaned at the quote, making Katie laugh.

"I hope your battlecry isn't 'Enkindle This!', Mom, because that's just awful!" The hatchling giggled, making her mother roll her eyes.

"No, dear. The only battlecry you hear when I arrive is the sound of Batarians screaming in terror."

"I'm so posting that on Flitter. That's actually pretty good." Ash mentioned, stabbing at Hale's direction with a spoon. Saren had to agree with that one. "Of course, I think the most used word you spoke on Eden Prime isn't meant for ears under the age of eighteen."

"Watch it, Army." Hale scowled as her daughter giggled, spooning more of her sundae. "Geez, Saren, did you inhale that chocolate? I swear there was like a plate of it." To the Turians' surprise, he had unknowingly eaten almost all the chocolate that was on his plate, content to listening to the banter of the bickering Humans as he sat and... well, he was enjoying himself.

"It's better than watching you eat that... _vnark_ -looking yellow sausage of yours, covered in solidified goo, Commander." The SPECTRE pointed at the sundae that Hale had almost finished.

"Did you just call a banana a Turian penis?" Katie asked, shocked.

"Katherine Jane Hale!" The N7 admonished her daughter as both Kaiden and Ashley began laughing out loud, either at Saren's reference to said banana, Katie Hale's comment, or the fact that their Executive Officer was now berating her daughter. Saren noted that the hatchling had three names, just like Turians did. He also noticed that, when in trouble, Human mothers would also use all three names to identify that said hatchling was in trouble, just like Turian mothers. He, of course, recognized the fact that Hale had named her daughter after her adopted sister, Jane Catherine Shepard. From what little the N7 had told him about her time aboard the SSV _Einstein_ , Jane Shepard had practically held her hand through the whole ordeal of post-Mindoir. He concluded that Katherine was a product of that event, the hatchling of an unknown sire. In Turian culture, it was a harsh stigma, but as he understood it, it was a good deal more common among Humanity. Honestly, he couldn't see the bad in it; the Commander obviously doted upon her daughter, and Katie Hale looked up to her sire as a hatchling should. It was... touching. The troubling times that Jennifer Roselyn Hale must have endured... Saren couldn't even begin to imagine it.

He wondered just how much her hatchling knew.

* * *

"I think I'm going to fall in love with this armor." Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams announced as she stared at the Rosenkov Materials' Heavy Titan Battlesuit, looking at it from all angles as the Colonial Soldier looked at the specifications on the Haptic placard on the station in front of the armor that was suspended in a no-grav display unit. "'Can withstand fifteen hundred Newtons of kinetic impact per square inch'." Williams looked over to Commander Jennifer Hale, who was looking at a seperate display, Kassa Fabrication's Colossus WarGear, Ballistic Medium. Saren had only been looking at armor in mild amusement; he possessed Specter Gear Heavy Master Wear Armor, the best armor that anyone could get. Jen turned her head for a second to glance at the Rosenkov Materials' armor, and gave a small snort, and shook her head. The Titan Battlesuit, while good for getting shot at, impeded the user's movements, almost guarenteeing that they would get shot moving to cover. Saren had once worn the Battlesuit while in the Cabals, and remembered what Commander Hale had told him when she mentioned that she was going 'shopping' for armor for the _Normandy's_ Marines.

Hale had mentioned that, at one point in time or another, worn and used most available armor for a human being in her career, usually during training exercises, during her time in the 2nd TRU on Pinnacle Station. She had been looking to gear the Butcher's Battalion with what she wanted to believe would be the best armor all around. Sadly, what 'best' meant was a matter of opinion; some wanted more armor at the sacrifice of speed, or better shielding with lower interface options, or better mobility. Sadly, the 'best' armor that the N7 had found was in the middle of the pack, as it were; something that was good all around without any real sacrifices, but nothing to write home about. It had killed her budget for several months outfitting her men in Hahne-Kedar's Predator Series Carrier Assembly (Medium) Armor, but it had been worth it to outfit her two-hundred and fifty Marine Battalion in armor that she had personally worn and approved, as oppose to deciding by reading a placard and writing a Credit Check out. Fuck that. It took five months, filling out the orders for 20% of her Battalion for each month, outfitting each man and woman to make sure that it not only fit well, but each Marine understood just how thier armor worked. Admiral Ahern had been amused by the venture, and approved of it immediately, even when Hale couldn't afford to get her Battalion Omnigel requirement for miscellaneous supplies for the month, having to make do with ten kilos of the stuff for thirty fical days; ten kilos usually ran out in a week. One of her Marines, Sergeant Marshall Ingston, was subtly known for his ability to 'procure' stuff that was lying about, and then-Major Jennifer Hale had politely 'requested' that Sergeant Ingston grab anything not physically nailed to the station itself to help his brothers and sisters in the TRU. Ingston was better than advertise; he once came back with ten centigrams of Eezo that was completely off the books, and Hale never asked how or where he got it from. One gram of Eezo was rated at some fourteen hundred Credits, and he had found a hundred of it. She didn't doubt that some was pocketed by the wily Sergeant for personal budgetary profit, but Jen didn't care. That money went to buy her Marines weapons.

To this day, the Butcher's Battalion was still the best outfitted unit in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps save for the NCT's because of her. Saren approved.

"Give the Armax Arsenal's Mercenary Skirmish Armor a look at, Ash. Pricy, but worth it." Hale offered as she watched Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko immediately stop looking at the Aldrin Lab's Agent Carrier Assembly and head straight over to the display that Armax Arsenal had to offer. Saren noted that Katherine Hale's eyes followed the Biotic Lieutenant wherever he went, and Hale had her eyes on the hatchling. Kaiden was, as Katie vocally mentioned it, 'hunky', and the Biotic Turian guessed that the hatchling was at an age where she was looking to mate. Strangely, the adult Humans seemed to completely ignore the fact that the young Human female seemed to act as if she were in heat. The SPECTRE didn't understand why the Biotic Lieutenant wasn't engaging in any of the normal courting rituals that he had seen the Human Marines and Sailors do on the _Normandy_ , what they called 'flirting'. It struck him as strange that the Lieutenant seemed to be politely ignoring Katie. Saren was confused by it. She possessed the physical endowments Human males were always talking about with each other when not in the presense of Human females. Was her waist not supportive enough for the Lieutenant's taste? Not that Saren knew, unable to gauge the hatchlings' age well, but she seemed to be making herself known that she was willing and ready to court.

Then he remembered the tale that Commander Hale told him about the young woman who had hired mercenaries to kidnap her.

He had forgotten that there was an... what was that term? Age limit? Humans put a restriction on such things if they thought their hatchlings too 'young' despite their sexual maturity. The Turian guess that without fringes, it was harder for Humans to tell if a male or female was appropriate or not, and had to rely on a physical age as oppose to the physical readiness of the body, as Turians did. He recalled that Hale had been less than of military age during Mindoir...

Spirits! It just now occured to him that the Commander must have been under that age limit. And it had been her time to breed.

 _And yet she somehow she found a way to join her military with a hatchling,_ Saren mused as he pretended to look at some Aldrin Lab's Agent Carrier Assembly (Medium), though he was really studying Humanity's First SPECTRE. _She must have had to choose between revenge and raising a hatchling... and she chose revenge._ It made him think of the things that he had told her, about having to make difficult choices. What a fool he had been; Hale had made choice more difficult that he at a much younger peroid of her life. _Still, she gets to enjoy the presence of her hatchling, at least._

"Is this Asari armor for serious?" Katie Hale asked, pointing out at a Serrice Counsel Phantom Engagement Armor, which the Turian moved over to see that it was really just a series of hardened ceramic plates electrostatically locked onto a suit made of hardened weave, much like the Alliance CATsuits. Even the SPECTRE was forced to admit that the Phantom Armor was meant to not only protect the body of an Asari who wore it, but also to... bring attention to certain anatomical portions of the Thessian figure, perhaps to distract. "It's practically a chainmail bikini! What does it stop? _Drool_?"

"I believe it is suppose to increase the procurement of bodily fluids, not protect them from it." Saren whispered to the hatchling, who bit her lower horizontal mandible to keep from laughing out loud.

"How is that suppose to work out, anyhow? The Asari?" The hatchling asked, Saren looking down at her. "They're suppose to be wise and civilized and the most advanced race and all, but the first thing they seem to do when they get out of schools is strip, merc, dance, or whore themselves out. You don't see or hear _that_ many human girls doing that. Don't hear about Turian girls shaking their fanny plates in clubs."

"You've obviously never seen a Turian dance. There's a reason we don't do it. It's just Spirits-be-damned embarrassing." Saren admitted, shaking his head. That had Katie giggle. "And yes, you're not the first to observe the Asari's rather hypocritical stance on their supposed advanced civilization while pulling jobs that seem to conglomerate towards the things you just mentioned."

"Maybe they know something we don't?" The hatchling asked, thoughtful. "Perhaps the best education in the galaxy can be afforded by slapping Credits on the bar for a little more hip action." If Turians could blush, Saren would have been doing so in embarrassment. Instead, his mandibles flared out so wide it made his jaw ache.

"For the love of the Spirits, do _not_ let your mother hear that!" The SPECTRE hissed towards the smaller Human. "She will think I suggested it, and I've see how good a shot she is. I won't stand a chance to say 'no, wait!' before my fringe gets shot off!"

"Did I just make a Turian SPECTRE retreat?" The smaller Hale girl giggled as she patted him on the back, a Human sign of comfort. "No worries, Agent Arterius, I'll protect you from my mother."

"Okay, I think that about does it here." Commander Jennifer Hale announces as she gets done talking to a dealer, and Saren looks over to see that she was standing in front of some Armax Arsenal Predator Mk. X Heavy Engagement Armor, and he saw that the Commander had been selecting a series of Armor Modifications and Battle Attachments for the Armor. That was good, selecting armor for herself, as well as picking out a variety of mods for such situations and scenarios that she might encounter. While the Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor was good armor, it was merely good. Armax Arsenal made its name making superior weapons and armor. "Adrenal stimulant interface, hardened ceramic plating, ablative coating for plates, physics dampeners, metabolic enhancement kit, upgraded shield batteries, EMD upgrade kit, reinforced endoskeleton, tech protection, wireless router protection, jamming penetration, advanced firewall and encryption VI interface, and upgraded joint seals rated for toxic environments. What's the damage?"

"Ninty-five thousand Credits." The sales clerk replied, the human male taking the datapad that Hale had in her hand. "Each."

"Here you go." Saren felt his mandibles twitch as the Marine handed over a plastisteel card with a holographic image of her face on it. Each what?

"Um, ma'am?" Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams looked almost green, and the SPECTRE wondered what he missed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Damn straight I am." The N7 replied without hesitation. "Our armor didn't do shit against the Geth, and I'll be damned if I'm throwing my Marines and your Army ass out into another firefight with shit I know wasn't effective enough." Hale... was buying armor for her men? Out of pocket? Armax Arsenal Gear was very top quality stuff... and it had the price tag to match it. Predator Mk. X Light Engagement Armor was what those of the Armax Arsenal League used during the Combat Season, and each set of armor cost over a hundred thousand Credits. Heavy Engagement Armor? That had to run close to two hundred thousand Credits... not to mention the mods she was buying for ninty-five thousand Credits for each suit of armor. Saren remembered how many Marines the _Normandy_ had; sixteen.

"The total is 6.2 million Credits, ma'am." The shop clerk mentioned, looking at the plastisteel Credit Chit, and then at Commander Hale. "Hi-Point Armory does not accept FOU money from discretionary budgets allotted through the military." The man had a hint of scorn in his tone, as if such a thing were beneath him.

"That's personal funds, Mr... Yokosumi." The Marine replied, reading the clerks' nametag. "Run a check if you need to. How soon can the twenty units be delievered to Dock 38?" The clerk looked at her with some amazement, ran the card through a machine, and his eyes went wide as the check obviously passed. Hale was rich? Saren had no idea.

"I can have that delievered this evening, Colonel!" The man's tone had went from scorn to servility in record time, the Turian noted with some amusement. His chuckle had Katie's attention as she smiled at the display.

"Most people think my Mom just some grunt," the hatching said softly, "but they don't realize that she's almost a genius, and graduated the top of her class at the Military Academy in Annapolis." That Saren knew from her records. "She got prize money from hitting pirates and slavers, distributed it evenly among her men, and then she began investing it through Volus bankers, mostly in tech firms and blue chip stocks. I don't know just how rich my Mom is, but as I understand it, she could probably buy her own ship and run it for a year without gaining a Credit."

"Spirits." The SPECTRE certainly had no idea that Hale was privately rich. But then again, she evidently wasn't about being rich, considering she was about to spend six million Credits making sure that her men were more than adequately armored. "Your mother may just be the most unique female I have met in my life."

"That's why I love her, why I'm proud of her." Katie said softly as they watched Commander Hale buy the armor, the sales clerk practically skipping around the store. "Yeah, I don't see her as much as some of the other military brats on this station, but I know what she does for us. Not just Humanity, but everyone. My mother's a genuine hero, and now she's going to be a SPECTRE." Saren looked at the hatchling, and was surprised to see Katie wipe at a tear. "She... can't ever be normal. She doesn't know how. All she can do is push forward, channel herself into what she is, to fight for what is right while the rest of my species is more concerned with their own personal bullcrap. It's going to kill her one day, and there are going to be so many people that will destroy her legacy as soon as she's dead, despite the fact that she was the very shield they needed." Saren couldn't find the words to say, seeing such insightfulness in someone so young. "My Aunt Jannie had this quote she would say, something that explained why my Mom was the way she was, and my Aunt told it to me. I realized it was how she saw the galaxy."

"What quote is that?" Saren asked, curious.

"It comes from the Bible." Katie told him, and the SPECTRE nodded his head; he knew that the Human Holy Bible was an important religious text. "I know it by heart:

 _"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children."_

Commander Hale turned as Katie finished the sentence, and smiled.

 _"For I shall strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger against those who attempt to poison and destroy my breathern. And you shall know that I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."_

"Book of Eziekel, Chapter 25, Verse 17." Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams nodded her head and smiled, folding her arms across her chest. "I didn't know you went to Church, ma'am."

"I don't, it was my sister's favorite passage in the Bible." Hale replied sadly, a frown upon her face. "She use to say it to me back... back when I was recovering on the _Hastings_. It was like a prayer to her. Me? I just like saying something truly inspiring before I started making skull shots on some slavers, blaring it out of a MAKO as we kicked in the door, scare them to death with some righteous holy terror. It works, too. That passage never fails to make Batarians soil themselves in fear."

"I... ah, wow." The Colonial Army Soldier looked a little confused for a moment. "You use the Bible to frighten the piss out of our enemies before raiding them?"

"Worked for the Crusaders, right?"

* * *

It was getting to being evening time on Arcturus Station as Saren Arterius stood in the Cargo Bay of the SSV _Normandy_ with a few members of its personnel; Captain David Anderson, Commander Jennifer Hale, Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko, Ensign Rupert Scott, who was the ships' supply officer, and Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo. Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams was also in the Cargo Bay, but wasn't paying attention to the going-ons of what was going on as she played with Katherine Hale in a rather intense game of Skyllian Five that involved betting some multi-colored chocolate candy called 'Em and Ems', using a couple of crates as seats and a table. Katie was laughing as Williams was stumped once more, losing a portion of her candy, displaying a face that didn't indicate she was letting the hatchling win. Saren somewhat wondered if Katie Hale was good, or if Williams wasn't. If he had to guess, he was going to have to go with the former; Skyllian Five was a popular game among several species' militaries, and he had seen the _Normandy's_ Marines and Sailors play it often enough.

"I can't fucking believe you did it again." Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo was grousing over the fact that Commander Jennifer Hale had purshased several million Credits worth of armor for her men, getting twenty suits of Armax Arsenal's Predator Mk. X Engagement Armor; ten Medium, five Light, and five the Heavy varient. The Cargo Bay door of the _Normandy_ was dropped, and Hi-Point Armory had brought a hoverskid and an employee to transport the twenty Tuff Boxes that contained the armor, and another four seperate Tuff Boxes containing all the Modifications that she had ordered as well. "Went and bought a shitload of armor for a pretty penny." Captain Anderson had been rather startled when he learned of Hale's actions, but not as much as when he learned that she had done so at least four different times in the past. "How much did this cost you this time, Jen?"

"Don't ask. You'll never be able to pay me back, Typhoon." The Daughtr of Mindoir replied, standing in her DSU Alliance Blues with her blouse off, wearing her CATsuit top only, something she was proned to doing when not on duty, Saren noted. She also had a habit of having the sleeves of her black mesh shirt rolled up past her elbows and upper arms, showing off what Human males called 'guns'. The SPECTRE supposed that meant something to the species, but all he saw was the anatomical bicep and tricep area, though he suppose that it had something to do with how swollen Hale's were compared to other females. He did notice that Human males and their Marine female equivalent liked to 'hit the gym' and 'get their swoll on'. He hadn't realized that Humans could actually increase their physical size through the use of lifting bars of metal. Turians developed their strength through hunting and glutting on fresh kills, giving themselves a predatory edge in speed and reflexes.

"Okay, now I'm asking." Captain Anderson looked over at Hale, concerned. "I know our budget doesn't cover this much. And I don't think the Alliance will reimburse you."

"Oh, I know they won't. Haven't before. Doubt they will this time." The ships' XO replied happily enough. "But I'm not letting our men play kick the can with armor that I know for a fact wasn't good enough to tango with the Geth. This is, quiet honestly, the best all-around armor money can buy. Sure, there's a _couple_ of models out there that have an advantage here or there, but for protections, movement, reliability, modifications, and weight, you really can't beat the Armax Arsenal Predator Mk. X Engagement Armor. Wanted to buy it for the 2nd TRU Battalion, but even I couldn't afford two hundred of them. So the _Normandy's_ Marines are literally going to be the best armored unit in the entire fucking Alliance, even better than the NCT's."

"Price tag?" The Black Fox insisted, making the Commander sigh.

"6.2 million Credits." That had everyone's jaw drop save for Lieutenant Alenko, who had been there when Hale had purchased the armor. "Before taxes, tarrifs, shipping charges, rush fee, and bribing one of the employees to put my shit at the top of the list instead of waiting a few more days. Probably stepped on some useless fuck merc from getting his armor as I bought all the company had in stock, as well as within the next two Clusters. They seriously had to import some from Sol and the Horsehead Nebula. I'm sure the STG and ONI just got a _huge_ spike on their datafeeds on someone buying a ton of high-grade armor." Anderson merely shook his head. "What? ONI should be use to it by now. They'll see my name on the purchasing agreement, snort, and ignore it. This would be the fifth time I've done this."

"So... all total?" Ensign Scott asked, the supply officers' face a little pale at the thought of an individual having the funds to purchase high quality armor in bulk.

"Seven... seven million, four hundred and thirty-nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty-four Credits." Hale closed her eyes for just a instant to recall the amount down to the exact Credit, a talent that he remembered the Commander having during the Board, remembering the exact number of slaves she had saved and slavers that she had either killed or captured. "Considering that we're probably going to be going face-first into the Geth, I don't doubt that that money will be very well spent when we come back alive from missions as oppose to looking like bloody swiss cheese."

"Jesus fucking Christ, girl." Maldonaldo growled, shaking her head. "How are you planning to recoup that? More slave raids?"

"Please! Geth technology to R + D companies, and Geth bodies to the Alliance for tinkering." The Commander smiled, and Saren felt both of his hearts stop for a moment. Wai... what? Hale seemed to have notice his mandibles twitching. "Yes, Saren, I collect an asshole tax on the galaxy. If I kill an asshole, I get to keep their stuff. Most gets sold to Alliance Militias, weapons companies, Frontier Marshalls, and the ever-ambigious Citadel Reclaimation Office. It's called 'Prize money', and I use that money to outfit my men, fund Abolitionist groups, donate to survivor groups, and pay for intel from information brokers on any possible planned heists, raids, and hits, as well as any information on outposts, encampments, bases, ship movements and the such." The SPECTRE was only a little surprised by that. The money being used for intel wasn't too different than what some SPECTREs did, Saren included. Hearing Hale admitting to funding abolitionists and survivor groups held no surprise to him. Still, Hale had gotten rich off of investments from such money, though it sounded like she put it forth to good use. Good for her. Once again, the Turian felt ashamed to see this Human female do more on her own than he had ever done as a member of the Office of Special Tactics and Reconniasence. Considering that he was to be her mentor now that she was accepted as a Counsel Agent, perhaps he could talk to her about such things. Maybe he should be doing more; who could say what things he could prevent from every happening if he were to be a bit more proactive?

"What about the Counsel? Going to send them anything?" The Typhoon asked pointedly. The SPECTRE was aware of her rather lack of ambivalence towards non-humans, though the Typhoon of Eden Prime was generally better than the rest of her kin. She, at least, had a reason to personally hate Batarians and Turians as her family was all killed on Mindoir, the Master Sergeant on Elysium at the time. He could understand, and didn't judge her harshly.

"Maybe if they ask politely, I'll send them the head of one of those big fuckers. What are we calling them? Primes? I'm sure the Turian Counselor would get a kick if I mailed one on a mount for his wall with my name carved into it." That actually had every Human laughing, though Saren didn't understand. He looked it up on his Omnitool, and found the reference; Hale planned to decapitate a Geth, attach it to a plaque, and have Counselor Sparatus Quinlinus hang it on a wall as a decoration. Turians didn't do such things with their kills. They usually ate them if they were dextro, and left them to rot if not. Geth warforms wouldn't rot once deactivated, though, would they?

Humans were wierd. But somehow his Pandorum wasn't so bad anymore.

* * *

A/N: FOU money, pronounced 'fuu' stands for 'For Official Use' and is a discretionary budget allotted military units to pay for services and contracts for foreign civilians for such things such as laundry services, waste water management, and Class Six purposes. This does exist in the US Army, though I've changed it slightly for this story.

Ezielkel 25:17, brought to you by Brother Tarentino and the Rev. Sam Jackson. Say 'what' again, motherfucker. BTW, it isn't exactly a Bible quote, somewhat changed for the movie.


	35. Meer: One-Up

**Meer: One-Up**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 33: Meer, One-up

Arcturus Station, Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream, April 5, 2183 0723 Arcturus

 _Cunt did it to me again!_

Commander Mark Meer woke to that thought, his eyes going to the ceiling that he didn't immediately recognize, but had seen before on several occasions. He turned his head to see the woman he laid beside, his eyes going down the contours of her naked body, only slightly covered by the blankets of her bed, her leg draping one of his own as an arm was wrapped around his abdomen. The dusky skin of Khalish Bint Sinan Al-Jilani was both smooth and well-cared for, the star reporter of Westerlund News knowing that her popularity and success was based only half on her reports, the other half on her looks. Bedding the woman that was considered the most beautiful on holovision was nothing to be ashamed of, but despite that Meer was laying in the lap of luxury, a beautiful woman at his side, none of that mattered to him.

 _Fucking cunt did it to me again..._

Meer had contacted Khalish Al-Jilani before making port at Arcturus Station, scheduling the earliest available interview with the Westerlund News reporter, intent on getting the first word out about Eden Prime, and of course, his own heroic actions. Considering Second Fleet was still clearing out the colony, that a communications lockdown was being enforced over the colony, and travel was restructed to military-only in the Utopia System, there was little word coming out from the Utopia System or Eden Prime save what Alliance Forces Network was putting out through their controlled media syndication. When Khalish had heard of Meer's want for an interview, she had wiped her entire schedule for him, knowing that Meers' love for exclusives would certainly help her. While Westerlund News was a popular media mogul, Alliance Forces Network still held supreme in ratings due to the fact that it was on at _all_ military postings and colonies, subscriptions were much cheaper than their privatized competition, and in cases of battles and wars where civilian reporters were generally not allowed, AFN could send its military reporters along with the troops. Mark had realized years ago that coming back fresh with a news scoop was both lucrative and a great way of making sure that he was well-known throughout the military as well as the civilian populous. The cunt never understood anything like that, never calling for interviews, usually ambushed by reporters, and getting visible frustrated during the interviews. If she had just called ahead, agreed to some terms, prepared in advance, she would avoid embarrassing questions being asked in front of a camera and looking like a fool.

Yesterday, the cunt trumped him good.

He had just finished his interview with Khalish Al-Jilani, getting a promise from her for a later exclusive in her own personal apartment when he walked by and saw, of all things, a live interview on AFN showing Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale, Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko, and Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams. He had just walked in at the beginning, where the slut was talking about how poor Colonal trash unit was butchered by the Geth. Didn't everyone know that the Colonial Army was a fucking joke? They were, at best, barely above an armed mob, trained enough to know which end of the rifle the round came out from. So a few colony hicks armed with pop guns got wasted. Who cared? That was the reason they were there for! He had stood and watched the monitor from a nearby cafeteria, and his heart sank as he watched the cunt handle herself deftly. She moved the attention to the slut and the pretty boy expertly while standing in the middle so she was always in frame no matter who was talking; gracious while taking center stage, Meer nodded, admitting that perhaps he gauged the cunt wrong. The whole thing looked like an impromptu interview, as if it had 'just' happened, and the background was well-placed; it was obviously being done in the middle of Arcturus, right where military personnel and civilian contractors were walking by, making it feel like guerrilla-styled reporting. The reporter was just a Corporal, but the questions were obviously canned as well, made to sound promoting and sympathetic. Meer had seen interviews with the cunt before, and watched her fall face-first (figuratively) as pointed questions were asked, and she stumbled and stammered through them while obviously trying to hold onto her temper. Nothing like that was happening now. Watching the slut step off-screen in a play of emotions talking about the losses was particularly well-played. He didn't miss the fact that the pretty boy stepped off screen as well to supposedly comfort the slut, letting the cunt take the full shot of the camera solo.

And then the cunt had let the cat out of the bag... by calling herself Humanity's First SPECTRE.

"Fucking cunt whore." Meer spoke to himself, laying in a bed of silk sheets, cotton comforters, and a beautiful naked woman at his side. None of that was on his mind now. All he could think of was how that cunt had one-up'ed him. How the fuck had things gotten so out of hand? Did the cunt not realize that by announcing herself on fucking holovision on AFN would put cross hairs right on her forehead? There were a slue of interest groups and political fringe parties that loved nothing more than making waves, and what better than to harass and destabilize the first human in the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance for no other reason other than it was petty and a slight to the Alliance _and_ the Counsel. And those were just the useless backroom rubes. Those with money and power? Cunt was going to find herself the target to assassinations, kidnappings, power plays, and betrayal from here until the day she died... ten or so months from now.

Thinking about it, perhaps it was better that the cunt took the job.

Commander Mark Meer thought about his conversation with Admiral Tadius Ahern back on Pinnacle Station over two weeks ago. The Admiral had alluded to something like this, about the lifespans of SPECTREs and other obstacles. Was Mark even ready for such a task, such problems that being a Counsel Agent would bring. He had already thought of the issues of crazy human wackos, and that wasn't even adding into the account of crazy _alien_ wackos! He had been doing well for himself right where he was. Perhaps both Ahern and the cunt had a point, thinking of what the Lieutenant Colonel had said back on Eden Prime; bringing him onto the ground had been a mistake. He hadn't fired his weapon once, unable to match the acquisition speed that the cunt and the spike Nihlus possessed, shooting their targets before Meer could even lift his rifle. During the Spaceport engagement, both SPECTREs and the cunt had stayed on the platform as oppose to finding a clearer advantage, or at least not trying to take on the Geth with their teeth. Perhaps... that was necessary for a SPECTRE. That certainly wasn't Meer's style of fighting. While he was no coward, he knew that he worked better from a distance, where he could maneuver his men like... well, like a chessmaster. He was a player of the game, not a piece in it.

That made him think.

Perhaps he had been doing it all wrong, this whole SPECTRE candidacy thing. He wanted the job because it would make him look good, that was true... he would probably make a good looking corpse by the end of the year. That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a Parliament job, to being one the Ministers, to guide Humanity... not to be dead in some ditch. Being a SPECTRE meant that he would _have_ to work with aliens... there wasn't any way around it. The cunt practically was tag-teaming both Turians, and they were attached to her like she were some blue dyke whore. She was obviously perfect for the job, Mark thought in disgust, shaking her ass for aliens. Just like a piece in chess, Hale had turned herself from a pawn to a queen.

But every piece of the board was controlled by a master.

Meer smiled as he thought about it, his role in things. Why fight to be some sort of ground-sloughing meathead when he could be so much more? Wasn't that what he wanted all his life? To be on top, at the top? Being a SPECTRE wasn't that. God knew that so many people from so many directions would come in droves trying to control Humanity's First SPECTRE; the military, the Corporation, Terra Firma, Earth First, hell, even old Cerberus! And those were just the major players! Who knew what businesses, corporations, investors, information brokers, and two-bit thug or whore would come up with in the hopes of getting Humanity's First SPECTRE in their pocket, either through bribery, deceit, blackmail, threats, extortion, or calumny? Meer couldn't afford that kind of exposure. Who could? But it seemed that the cunt, once again, was going to leap off that pool without check to see if there was water in it in the first place.

There was opportunity in the air, Meer could smell it.

Ahern had a point, the Naval Commander mulled it over as Khalish snuggled into him closer, her hand roaming up and down his muscular torso slowly, giving off a soft sigh of satisfaction as her warm chocolate eyes opened to look at him. The Admiral had told him that being the XO to Humanity's First SPECTRE was something a man could hang his hat on... but there was so much more to it than that, wasn't there? That little blonde slut petty officer of a yeoman, Halvorson? She could easily be manipulated, considering that God decided to bless her with big tits instead of a semi-functional brain. Manipulating the little blonde slut should be child's play. Tapping into Hale's databox and seeing just _who_ was trying to get into the SPECTREs pants (figuratively and literally) would be quite lucrative to know. What the cunt needed... was a manipulator, a middleman, an agent who knew others and could pull strings, hers included. Meer was the perfect man for that job. Did he not just chastise her actions for not knowing how to deal with the media, or rushing headlong into dangerous situations, militarily and publically? That's what she needed! Something like... one of those Political Officers from the Old Soviet Union or the Peoples' Republic of China whose job it was to make sure that the Captain (or whoever) was making the best decisions for the good of all, regardless of cost. With the cunt now about to be shuttled off to the aliens, perhaps a 'minder' to make sure that she wasn't doing anything harmful to the Alliance and Humanity would be a good idea. Something to bring up to the Committee about, now that Admiral Khan Singh was the Fleet Master.

Commander Mark Meer smiled as he saw the strings in play, and how he could tug. The Spider was in his element as he returned his attention to the beautiful woman at his side and decided to indulge himself in some of what Al-Jilani was offering once more.

* * *

 _To: Cmd. Hale, J. XO, Normandy_

 _From: Cmd. Meer, M. Lead Navigator, Normandy_

 _Sub: Meet me somewhere?_

 _Hale,_

 _All things considering, I think we need to have a chat. What happened between us on Eden Prime was handled wrong, and I blame myself for losing my professionalism. That being said, I think there are things you need to be made aware of considering your new status, things that will probably piss you off knowing but still important. Half hour of your time, somewhere preferably quiet enough we don't have people tripping into our conversation._

 _Meer._

 _PS: Let's keep this between you and me? I'm going to go into some rather sensitive stuff._

* * *

Commander Mark Meer found himself, no surprise, in a bar.

Arcturus Station had a few notorious bars, known for the extensive choices of brews and liquors, as well as other creature comforts like sports channels, padded seats, and nachos dishes that really were quite good. He had been rather surprised by the return response that the cunt had given him, and a timely one at that. The Memorial Services for the Marines that had died on Eden Prime would be tonight on the SSV _Normandy's_ Cargo Bay, and then they would be leaving the Arc for the Citadel the next day. The bar, Conrads', was one of the smaller ones that was Officers Only, and featured a few activities not found in Enlisted-Members Clubs and NCO Clubs. Meer could see a small series of quiet poker tables and lounge chairs, and wasn't surprised to see Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale sitting in the lounge, one leg hitched up on the other as she smoked a cigar and had a glass tumbler by her elbow on the leather-padded seat she sat at. The lounge was empty, which was impressive considering there was a dozen chairs and the time of day when most Commissioned Officers were off. She must have reserved the room or told everyone to find somewhere else to smoke. Neither would have surprised him, though if Meer had to guess, he would have gone for the latter. Marines weren't exactly known for their abilities for forward-thinking, after all.

"I got to admit, Mark, little surprised by your message to meet with me." The cunt said as soon as he walked into the lounge, closing the smoking room's door behind him as he took a nearby seat. She returned the surprise by taking a fresh glass and a crystal bottle of what appeared to be scotch and poured him a drink, handing him a glass. "I honestly have no idea what this is about or how it's going to go. Thought about just telling you 'no', but my curiosity got the better of me, I guess." The Marine shrugged as she put her cigar in her mouth and gave it a puff. "So what is this about?"

"Honestly? You... SPECTRE." Meer opened up the conversation in a way that would ensure getting her attention. "Saw your interview on AFN. Masterfully done, by the way, real flair for winning hearts and minds with that."

"It wasn't canned, if that's what you're implying." The cunt replied, a little harshly.

"That's your problem, Jennifer; you getting caught flat-footed." Meer pointed out as he hiked one of feet up on his knee, folding his hands in his lap and looking right at the Marine. "You are probably one of the best reactionary fighters out there, jumping onto the bad guys when they're too busy running or hiding. I don't know how many pre-planned operations you've been on, but your best element has always been the offensive. Put you on the defensive, at least verbally, and you get choked up and emotional. Not your fault, honestly. Takes time and training to be an orator, and you've done neither. That's why when someone shoves a camera in your face, they know they're going to make you look like an idiot without trying."

"They really think that way?" Hale seemed surprised. Of course, she lived out on some hick farm most of her life. How would she know?

"Absolutely. Ever seen the news interview someone smart? Intelligent? Good-looking? Well-dressed?" Mark pointed out, and the cunt grunted, obviously getting the point. "No, some disaster happens, and you see some hick rube with missing teeth and a double chin, grunting like some Neanderthal as said hick eats up at the camera time, not realizing that he's just been made some circus monkey so the kids can point and laugh at him. You've played that monkey more than a few times, Jennifer. Yesterday, you were the ringleader, and I don't care how it came together. It came off good, and you came off looking like a SPECTRE should; in control, on top of her game, and ready to drive a round through something's skull. That's what people needed to see, humans and others. Not some woman fumbling about, an emotional mess because some reporter brings up Mindoir and Torfan with ever other breath just to make you look like that hick rube. You kept the interview in control, kept yourself in control, and made yourself look like they way you should have looked like for years; like a Marine in charge. You might hate the name 'Butcher of Torfan', but you let it get to you, let the reporters get to you, and they knew it. That's why people remember that name; not because it is memorable, but you made it that way. It bothered you... and the name stuck."

"Fucking unbelievable." The cunt breathed out, taking a gulp of her scotch. "So what are you saying? Be like you?"

"Or have someone like myself working _for_ you." Meer pointed out, taking a sip of his own scotch. It really was quite good. "Schedule interview beforehand, having pre-agreed questions, or having a designated Public Officer to do the interviews for you, like a press secretary."

"Don't throw yourself _too_ selflessly at the job, Mark. Might just make me like you." Hale snorted, but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. Good... he was slowly winning her over. "A Public Officer, huh?"

"Do you have any idea how many messages your terminal will get in a day? One yeoman will not be enough." Meer slowly, sadly, shook his head. "In the past five minutes, I guarantee you've gotten twelve to twenty messages. In the next three days, you'll probably receive somewhere around four hundred an hour." That had the Marine's jaw drop open. "I'm not just talking the well-wishers and hero-worshippers that will be your fanbase and trollers from here until eternity. I'm talking business propositions, corporate sponsorships, political party endorsements, lobbyists seeking approval, whips trying to sign you on, lawyers, accountants, activists... that's just the top of the deck." Hale's eyes were getting wider by the minute. "You, Colonel, have just hit the jackpot, the lottery, and the sweepstakes all in one punch. And all that it entails. Every loony, every lost relative, every fanboy and fangirl, weirdos like you wouldn't believe. And that's going to be the normal stuff. We haven't even hit upon the people who are going to hate your guts and trying to have you killed because you aren't their idea of a saint or some other shit."

"Assassination?" The cunt sounded skeptical.

"Worked well for Ghandi and King, and they were just the peaceful ones." The Naval Commander pointed out, making the Marine grunt. "No one who has ever taken center stage has done so as pure as fallen snow. People will hate you just because you're there and they aren't, regardless how fucking worthless they may be. You have just enlisted a couple hundred thousand enemies who have nothing else better to do than to make your life as difficult and as miserable as possible. The scum will come out of the woodworks to seemingly jump in front of your gunsights to commit suicide by SPECTRE until you are so exhausted and stressed by it all that one of them will finally get lucky. God can only guess what the Alliance Government will do with you, considering that you are now unleashed, and invulnerable to prosecution and orders. Feel like taking a shit on the Presidents' desk? Not a damn thing they can do about it."

"Not exactly the precedence I want to set." The N7 laughed out loud, and even Meer joined along. "Mark... you have a good point. The Turian Counselor gave me this packet that had the notes, thoughts, and writings of the Turian's First SPECTRE. What Maxis Trevanis went through some thirteen hundred years ago sounds a lot like what you just brought up. Only skimmed a little bit of it, but perhaps I should take it a little more seriously." Meer watched as the cunt looked at her glass thoughtfully in her hand for a moment. "He was killed two years after becoming the Hierarchy's First Counsel Agent. Assassinated from behind."

"Then I'd take that, and this, seriously." Mark replied.

"No offense, Mark, but why do this?" Hale asked, looking at Sailor seriously as she put the cigar in her mouth and took a puff. "You and I aren't friends; hell, on the best of days, we stare daggers at each others' backs. What's in this for you?"

"I guess it's a little too late in the game to tell you with an honest face that I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart." Meer even let off a smirk as Hale snorted, shaking her head. "I won't lie, I have ambitions, and they're lofty. I thought being a Counsel Agent would do the trick to get me upstairs, but that really isn't the case. _Helping_ a Counsel Agent, on the other hand..." He did a see-saw motion with his hand. "It doesn't hurt. Giving _guidance_ to said Counsel Agent?" His hand rocketed upward.

"Guidance?" Hale's voice was disgusted, but Mark held up his hands to indicate that he was about to continue.

"Jennifer, I'll be honest... you aren't prepared for what's about to hit you straight in the face." The Naval Commander began. "Every weapons manufacturing company, every armor-making facility, tech company, mods store, outfitter, survival gear... anyone that makes anything that the military might possibly use will be clamoring for your endorsements." That had the Lieutenant Colonel frown. "You'll probably be getting free gear dumped on you that has no plausible reason other than for you to wear it as an endorsement for someone, like Hahne-Keder or Kassa Fabrication. Then there's the political side of it... every political party, from major ones like the Democratic Alliance Party and the Grand Ole' Party, from rink-a-dink ones like the New Communist Party and the Green Tea Party. You're going to hear from Parliamentary members, their staff, lobbyists, whips, fundraisers, aldermans... you name it. And they're all going to sing your praises while sharpening their knifes to cut your throat." The cunt frowned again, but at least this time she was nodding, indicating she at least understood that. "Between the endorsements and the politicians? Then there's interest groups; businesses, corporations, collections of like-minded individuals like the Knights of Columbia, Terra Firma, Earth First..."

"Cerberus." Hale interrupted, her voice hard, and her eyes staring right at him.

"Among others, that could be a likely possibility." Meer deflected easily, watching as the Marine still looked at him. _Shit, does she suspect?_ The Commander was careful, and if anyone might suspect him, it wouldn't have been Hale on top of the list of possible discoverers... unless someone else told her on the off-chance she would shoot first and ask questions later. That was a likely scenario. yet if that were the case... why wasn't he ringed with ONI Agents? Why hadn't she arrested him, or at least accused him of such? Lack of proof was a possibility, but the cunt didn't strike him as the kind of person who split hairs so easily. For all their grief against one another... Hale had never tried to bury Meer for anything. Even now, after the incident on Eden Prime where he clearly assaulted a superior and could have been argued to have deserted a battle... the N7 hadn't given charges for either, nor accused him of such. Hell, he had tried to accuse her of insubordination and collusion with aliens! She could have thrown the book at him and probably succeeded... but didn't. Why? Again, there was no lost love between the two. Why wouldn't the cunt take him down unless... there had to be something that would keep her from attacking him professionally. Something he wasn't aware about? He doubt it was something the Corporation was involved with, otherwise he'd have heard about it.

This bothered him.

"I have to admit, Mark, you've certainly have through through several different aspects of the job that I hadn't even considered." The Marine finally answered after she puffed on her cigar a few times, letting the smoke waif from her mouth. "You're right that I don't like you, but I also know how smart you are. I trained myself to be a weapon. You've trained yourself to be a political animal. I can't be both, so what you say makes sense; I'm going to need someone like you. _Why_ should it be you is the question."

"I'm Corporation." Mark admitted, making the cunt's eyes widen slightly. "Yes, I said it. Find me someone else that can tell you the answer to that question and _not_ lie about it." Hale chewed on that for a moment, and slowly nodded. "Now, think of it this way, Colonel. Corporate wants a SPECTRE, and I'm in your command, just under you. I can take orders from Corporates' end, and even show them to you. Like something you see? See something you don't like? We can give humanity the boost it needs while keeping your hands clean, Hale. We've got projects and assets, intelligence and agents, politicians and businessmen.

"Want a sponsor that can plus the _Normandy's_ budget where you're not paying out of pocket for armor and weapons for you and your Marines?" The Commander continued. "Enough Eezo where you can jump for a month through the Terminus Systems without getting gas gouged by pirates and scum? Heavy Helium in the tanks that isn't tracked and traced by C-Sec, STG, and every other intelligence agency so you can raid slavers to your hearts' content? How about the finances to raid all those bases that snatch up humans?" He could see Hale tremble slightly at that; that hit a nerve. "We got eyes and ears and hackers. We can find every piece of filth that ever put a collar on a man. Humanity's First SPECTRE scouring the galaxy of slavers, breaking more chains that you ever had before. Actually enforce Citadel law while making the Alliance look like the white knight. Finally break the Hegemony by shutting down their only profitable venture until some Batarian Spartacus rises up and shoves a shank in the Glorious Ones' skull. That could happen, Jennifer. No more Mindoirs. No more Elysiums. No more Torfans. Marines serving twenty years instead of two or three before being medically discharged with missing limbs or damaged organs, living on a fruitless pension on some Tier 2 asshole colony." He was playing right into her deck, and she was going to play right into his hand. "Imagine breaking slavery itself, going to Khar'shan a hero, freeing all those people there. Humans, Asari, Salarians... Batarians. Millions of plebs that never stood a chance, born with a collar around their neck, never knowing a day of happiness or hope. Imagine freeing one of them. Ten of them. A hundred. A thousand." The Butcher shook so bad Mark could see her scotch quake in its glass. "A million."

"Stop. Please." The words were but whispers, and Meer could see a single tear drift from one of Hale's blue eyes. So close.

"When I joined," Mark continued to talk, taking a sip of his scotch, "I had nothing. I was a two-bit thug running Credits and numbers in Eddie-town for pocket change. What I wanted... was this." He lifted his arms to indicate the posh Officers' Club, the lounge itself, the fine scotch in his hand, the uniform on his body with its Commander rank. "I didn't give up a _thing_ , Jennifer. I wanted this, and they made it happen. I got to go to one of the best colleges on Earth, I got to lead men, and they made me a hero. Akuze... was a testing ground." Hale's eyes went wide. "Those Marines that went on the ground were all CAT6's, all about to be put into prison for rape, or theft, or some other bullshit. They weren't worth the uniform, but the Corporation had given them a choice; work with them one time, survive, and they would start again, anywhere else, comfortable, with money, and a new name and history. A new beginning... or a hard labor prison on Mars or Titan for years." Meer shrugged his shoulders. "They knew what they were going in for, what they would be facing. The chance to bring down the biggest game in the galaxy... that's something a man can hang his hat on, something that even the aliens would notice. The men failed, sadly, but I had with me a weapon that was _likely_ to bring down a Thresher Maw. I shot that fucker in its tentacled face from a kilometer in the air while using seismic pulse drones to bring it out, and the Corporation doctored a few records, put some rounds in the thing, and mad it look like I was on the ground with the scum. Hero... of... Akuze. They made that happen." Hale looked disturbed by the thought, but she said nothing, chewing her bottom lip. "The interviews and USO shows, those were what I wanted. I wanted the fame and popularity, and I know that it wasn't hard for them to cash in on it. I, after all, am a part of the Corporation, so my gain is their gain. And one day, when I'm in Parliament, Committee of Appropriations, Sub-Committee of Military Spending? They're going to cash in the those chips, and do you think I'll have qualms?" Mark smiled as he let that sink in. "I'll be helping someone else out, someone like me, another hero who will one day take over... and with enough of us, _we'll_ take over. And the Alliance can move as one, not some conglomerated mish-mash of bullshit with whiny politicians more worried about reelections and corruption charges. A unified government, the first in human history. No more starving children, no more gangs, no more slave raids. Imagine what we could do with people that care, people that believe, people that are willing to do, not talk.

"You, Jennifer, could very well be the first step towards a better tomorrow." Commander Mark Meer set down his glass of scotch, his eyes boring in on the cunt. "And it can start today."

"I..." The Daughter of Mindoir was trembling visibly, her bottom lip quivering as she looked at the Naval Commander, her resolve wavering. He had her. Today, tomorrow, the answer would be yes.

"Just think on it, Jennifer." Mark smiled as he stood up from his seat, setting his scotch down, moving out of the lounge. "You know'll where to find me if you make up your mind."

* * *

A/N: I admit, I'm having a hard time to keep Meer a complete utter asshole. I think there's one redeemable quality about him in there... he _doesn't_ kick puppies? He will have some personal growth, but not in a better way, especially since he seems himself getting snubbed all the time. I still like the idea of the Spider, and will continue to use it.

Meer and Al-Jilani boinking is just obvious. I will expand on Khalish some more, as she was a bitch without much of a background in the game, and everyone's favorite punching bag (sometimes literally). I want to make her a little more... devious and fleshed out. What makes a sensational reporter, one of those 'blood is flowing roll the cameras' types. Probably will liken her to someone IRL, like Ann Coultier or Sarah Palin.

I hadn't really fleshed out the idea of the Corporation until this chapter. Most of Meer's rant sounds pretty Nazi and Communist, but this idea shoots back all the way to Agamemnon in the days of the Greek City-States (that would be the Overlord of Greece who fought in the Trojan War, btw). Most of Meer is self-serving, but he does believe in something greater than himself.


	36. Shepard: Sword and Shield

**Shepard: Sword And Shield**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

A/N: This chapter might be a slap in the face for some, as it first deals with Captain Hannah Shepard (and not Commander Shepard). It also deals with *gasp* Cerberus. Who may not be the boogyman. I _did_ say in the summery that I was flipping the script. Good guys are bad guys, and vice versa. A kinder, gentler Cerberus... not exactly. But I think you'll like changes in what I've made Cerberus into; something, I think, Mass Effect 2 actually implied: A Sword and Shield.

* * *

Chapter 33: Shepard, Sword and Shield

Arcturus Station, Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream, April 5, 2183 1723 Arcturus

Captain Hannah Shepard smiled as she saw her adopted daughter Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale enter into her personal apartment on Arcturus Station with Katherine Hale in tow, her granddaughter all smiles as the thirteen year old young woman practically launched herself at Hannah, giving her a tight hug around her waist as Shepard held Katie tightly. It always struck her as a little funny that when she adopted Jennifer Hale when she was but a traumatized sixteen year old girl, she was essentially adopting two children, though none of them knew it at the time. She remembered the day Katherine had been born, a squalling babe aboard the SSV _Hastings_ while her daughter Jane had held Jen's hand, helping her through the ordeal. That day had always been tinged with happiness and regret; Jennifer hadn't been allowed to keep her child due to her trauma, and Hannah had been the one to find a good set of adopted parents for the little baby girl. Ira and Vivianne Wyrwa were old friends from the FCW that sadly couldn't have kids, and the thought of adopting a newborn had been a Godsend for them, as well as Jennifer. Separating the traumatized teenager from her newborn daughter had been an emotional roller-coaster that Jane had helped her adopted sister through, thankfully made easier once Jen saw that Ira and Vivi were good folks that could provide Katherine Jane Hale the kind of life a child would need, one that the Daughter of Mindoir would never be able to provide.

Hannah had long ago resigned herself to the fact that Katie Hale would be the only grandchild she would ever have.

"Did you hear about Mom?" Katie was effervescent as ever as she finished the hug, looking up to Hannah with practically glowing blue eyes, her youth and enthusiasm abundant. "She's going to be a SPECTRE!"

"I saw it on the news." Hannah smiled, having known what the Board was for when she saw those Turians there, even if Jen hadn't. "I'm very proud of her. She'll do us all proud."

"Wish the opposite were true." Hale grumped quietly as she stripped herself of her DSU Alliance Blue blouse, wearing her CATsuit top with her sleeves rolled up almost past her muscular biceps, as Marines were wont to do. She folded her blouse and laid it flat on a nearby end stand meant for that purpose, Hannah's own blouse underneath it. "Hey, Mom." The Marine walked from the entrance way as the door slid closed behind her and gave her a quick hug, something that Hannah found herself enjoying more since Jane's disappearance four years before. "Cooking?" Hale asked, testing the air. "Spaghetti?"

"What? You want more NavyRATs or some greasy take-out instead?" Hannah smirked as she went back to her kitchenette, going to the pot of boiling water with angel-hair pasta inside, accompanied by a smaller pot of cooking spaghetti sauce where she had been cutting up vegetables to add to the sauce, celery, onions, mushrooms, and green olives all ready to be dumped in. "You know I love cooking for you two, Jen. Wouldn't be much of a grandmother if it turned out to be burger night or Chinese take-out night." That had the Marine snort, but a smile came to her face as she went to the small fridge and found what she was looking for a moment later; what was it about Marines and being able to find alcohol no matter what? Hale pulled out a bottle of red wine and pulled two glasses from a small cupboard, pouring each wineglass halfway with the Reisling before corking it and putting it back. Hannah looked back into the living room and saw that Katie was plopped on the living room couch, holovision on AFN, where two commentators were talking about none other than Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale and her supposed SPECTRE membership to the Counsel. "Katie! Hands!"

"Ugh." The teenager groaned, getting off the couch and going to the apartments' bathroom to wash her hands as Jen smiled, hoisting her Reisling and taking a sip.

"How you managed to do it with Jannie and me, I swear I'll never know." The N7 commented softly, a small smile on her lips as she watched her daughter go into the bathroom. "If I could, I'd be dragging her along with me, but I don't want her growing up on cramped starships, confined to whatever quarters I have and the Mess Hall. Especially with what I do." Hannah merely _hmm'ed_ at that, knowing that the Marine had a point. Whenever Hale went off on a slaver raid, the men and women she rescued went onto whatever vessel she was on, or the ship stayed until transportation arrived. Having a young woman around to see unfettered slaves staring back at her? Dirty, abused, starving? That wasn't something an impressionable child needed to see. She could easily remember how Jane felt after they had received the distress call from Mindoir, bringing back the few survivors of that terrible incident. Hannah's daughter had been affected so deeply that she had latched onto a sixteen year old victim with three bullets in her gut and one right next to her heart, holding her hand as she spent weeks recovering from the physical trauma, and years with the mental trauma. Jen had named her daughter after Jane, her adopted sister being such a influence on her that little Jennifer Hale not only worked hard on getting better, but committed herself to joining the Alliance, to becoming a Marine. That same girl they had found half-dead on Mindoir was now Humanity's First SPECTRE.

God certainly did work in mysterious ways, didn't He?

"You've done well, Jen, and you have nothing to be ashamed about." Hannah told her adopted daughter, seeing Katie going back to the couch, her eyes glued on the holovision as the commentators began reiterating Hale's life once more, as if everyone in the Alliance didn't know who the Daughter of Mindoir and the Butcher of Torfan was. The N7 pursed her lips as she watched her daughter listening on the tragedy that struck her when she was sixteen, and Hannah placed a gentle hand on Jen's shoulder, getting the Marine to look at Shepard. "Jen? You've done _well_. There are men and women who have faced far less and come out a lot worse. You know that I'm a student of military history, and whenever you read about some great leader or fighter, you come to realize that they didn't become great because they wanted it, but because something _drove_ them to it. Whether it was the love of their country, some personal tragedy, or righteous cause, those men and women didn't do it for themselves, just like you don't. Those other people? The ones that question you? Doubt you? Don't believe in you? They've never seen what you've seen, what I've seen. They didn't fight in the trenches of Elysium, desperate to hold off pirates and scum in Bernard. They didn't kick in doors and clear rooms to rescue slaves in that base on Torfan. They weren't at Benning, Eden Prime, Galantz, Truman, Noveria, or Demeter during the Blitz. They weren't on Shanxi, starving and praying for rescue, ducking Turian Hunter/Killer Teams to forage for food, resigning themselves to orbital strikes and hopelessness. Those veterans are _your_ people, Jen, the ones that know the difference. You are the hero to heroes, to the men and women that stand up and make humanity proud. You may regret what happened to you all you want, but never regret the choices you made in response. In that, you have every right to be proud. I know that I am."

"I... thanks." The Marine frowned for a moment, nodding slowly. "I kind of fear this SPECTRE thing, honestly. I'm not sure what it entails entirely, and the thought of working for the Counsel instead of the Alliance makes me a little leery, but I know that if I do this... I know that I can do more, be able to prove to people that humanity isn't some late-to-the game thug race filled with racists and petty political agendas. I want people to look and say 'Look! We _can_ do it!' Like that guy who ran the first four-minute mile you told me about years ago."

"Roger Bannister." Hannah nodded, remembering that conversation from the _Hastings_. "We will always have our heroes and villains, Jen. People like Grissom and Anderson will always exist to stand up against the trash and filth of those who are selfish and conceited. You will too, I'm sorry to say." To that, the Marine merely snorted. Hannah picked up the cutting board and began dumping the cut vegetables into the slightly boiling sauce as she then checked on the bread underneath the stove, the over door releasing a wave of heated air as it was opened. "Good. Dinner will be ready momentarily. Could you set the table for us, Jen? And unglue your daughter from the HV."

"Yes, Mom." The Marine smiled as she went to the cupboard and began gathering plates. "Katie? _Bon appetite!_ "

* * *

The night wore on as dinner was finished and the bottle of Reisling disappeared, and Captain Hannah Shepard sat on her couch along with Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale. Katherine Hale was asleep on her mother's lap, her head resting on one of the Marines' thighs as Jen enjoyed her third glass of red wine, Hannah merely on her second. The N7 had one hand on her glass, yet the other was on her daughter, brushing through one of her pinched locks of hair meant to resemble the crest of an Asari, the affection that Jen had for her only child evident. Hannah remembered such times she spent with her daughter, Jane, whether posted on ships or stations, spending her off-duty hours with her only child. Sometimes, she regretted never getting remarried after John was killed in action during the FCW, a Lancer fighter pilot killed in the skies of Shanxi when Admiral Kastanie Drescher speared Second Fleet against the aggressive alien invaders that were the Turian Hierarchy. Hannah had always wanted a pair of children, a boy and a girl, but with John's death and her service in the military, it just never came to be. In a strange way, though, the Captain did get her wish; Jennifer Hale now sat at her couch, with Katie Hale asleep on her lap, goofy toe socks curled up on the couch as the young teenager slept in a fetal position, dreaming whatever dreams youth dreamed of. Probably boys. Hannah felt sorry for whoever would be Katie's first several boyfriends.

"Jen? I... I want to talk to you about something." Captain Hannah Shepard began, turning the holovision down to a lower volume, some crappy action flick involving way too many guns and bad dialogue; right up the Marine's alley. The N7 looked to the Captain, a curious look on her scarred face. "It's something... I've been meaning to bring up to you for years, but... it's hard. Didn't know where to start, and after Jane disappeared, I didn't want to lose you because of it."

"That serious?" Jen frowned, looking down at Katie, and then back at Hannah. "Here. Let me carry Katie to be first so we don't wake her." The Marine hoisted her daughter up easily enough, the teenager merely mumbling _love you_ to her mother as Jennifer Hale carried Katie to Hannah's only room, placing her on the bed as Hannah watched, a slight pang in her heart at the sight. Watching Jen and Katie together reminded her so much of herself when she had Jane, a single mother trying to make it work. Thankfully, Jane had been a sweet girl that had understood the difficulties of being a military child aboard a starship, and had never been really difficult. Katie, thankfully, was of the same vein. Jen came back a few moments later, sitting on the couch. "Tucked her in. She's out like a light. So... what's this about?" Hannah could tell that Hale was preparing herself for bad news. Damn it that she had to bring it up to the Lieutenant Colonel, but the time had come where Jen needed to know these things.

"Do you, by chance, remember the Book of Ezekiel?" The Captain began with a question, eliciting a strange look from the Marine, almost as she had been slapped. Jennifer had been a good Christian woman once; her own words. Mindoir had changed that.

"I definitely remember Jannie's favorite Bible passage was from the Book of Ezekiel. Actually, it was my fathers' too." Jen replied quietly, thoughtfully. "Still remember it to this day."

"That... wasn't a coincidence." How was she going to tell her adopted daughter this in a way that wouldn't have the Marine hating her immediately? To get her to listen? Hannah had been dreading this conversation for a long time, but time was running out for Humanity's First SPECTRE. "I knew Patrick Hale from before. Met your mother once, too. You would have been... four at the time, I think." Jen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the information obviously new to her. "After Shanxi, several of us veterans were gathered together because of the FCW and the repercussions that the Citadel emplaced upon us. We were a gathering of like-minded individuals that weren't pleased with what was happening to humanity, and we wished to do something about it. We gathered together under the ideals of a man, a private military contractor that the Alliance use to hire out for problem-solving back when the biggest threat was other humans.

"His name is John Martin Harper."

"Cerberus." Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale whispered, and Hannah was a little surprised that Hale knew of the name. "You... are Cerberus?"

"Yes. As was your father. And many others that you may know, though I will not divulge their names unless I have their permission." Hannah breathed out rapidly, knowing that she was treading dangerous ground. Cerberus had a sordid reputation, and a good deal of it rightfully so. "You are too young to remember what humanity was like before, Jen; before we truly discovered that we weren't alone in the galaxy. All that you've ever heard of us, well... okay, a lot of it is true. But a good deal of it is propaganda that we made to look like us, and some of it attributed to us to paint us in a more unfavorable light, or to hide the real culprit. Cerberus was... is... an ideal, a construct of a group of men and women who believed in something greater than themselves."

"Human supremacy?" Jen snorted, her face ugly, her scarred contanence not making it any easier to look at.

"Human _equality_." Hannah corrected her, making the Marine look at her oddly. "To understand, you need to know why. I will not tell you secrets, but I will tell you why I personally joined and kept membership all these years. To this very day, in fact. It has nothing to do with how I feel about the other species in the galaxy, though initially it was because of that. Hear me out, Jen, and I will tell you of those dark days...

 _...for after the First Contact War, the Citadel had forced the Systems Alliance Government to sign the Citadel Conventions, and they had done so by force. When the Asari fleets had come to make peace with the Systems Alliance, to join them with the Citadel, they had done so with fifteen fleets from the Hierarchy at the backs and at their disposal, ready to decimate mankind. The Alliance had no choice but to sign, zero negotiations allowed against the military stipulations that were sanctioned, the economic ramifications in basing the Alliance Dollar against the Galactic Credit at a horrible exchange, the presence of non-human oversight committees that edited jurisdictional law that was meant to bring fairness to men and women to the Alliance, stripped and washed away._

 _That was just the beginning._

 _All three shipyards that humanity possessed were monitored by no less than a Turian Fleet, refusing for any new ships to be built for the military while the Citadel demanded a percentage of what was left of both Alliance Fleets be made to patrol Citadel Space... but not Alliance Space. Repairs were deliberately stalled while mysterious 'raiders' began hitting some of their further outposts, settlements and camps that were providing raw materials for colonial construction and vessels, the inhabitants slaughtered and supplies taken in a manner that match Turian Hierarchy tactics from Shanxi exactly. A devastating embargo had been slapped on all human goods, while human merchant vessels were grossly taxed for transportation, almost bankrupting the goods industry in a matter of weeks. Anywhere any starship humanity went was shadowed by no less than half-a-dozen Turian Birds of Prey, small squadrons of Turian Frigates following Kolwoon-Class Freighters, ready to blast them into particles for any deviation of flight plans. Any emergency that came up on a human settlement was ordered by the Counsel to be dealt with by the Hierarchy, the Systems Alliance refused to answer the call by their own people... and the emergencies ignored._

 _It was obvious that Hierarchy was seeking another client race._

 _John Martin Harper wasn't a great leader or genius. A Private Military Contractor who was hired out by the Alliance for sensitive missions, he was an intelligent man who saw the writing on the wall. He quickly gathered members of the military and survivors of Shanxi, and made a quick plan of actions; to do the things that needed to get done for the Systems Alliance while the human governments' hands remained tied behind its own back. They had to act quickly and decisively, for they had perhaps months before the Alliance collapsed with debt and instability while the Hierarchy continued to strangle them in a shadow war. With the aid of Admiral Kastaine Drescher, hundreds of nuclear weapons had been secretly procured from Earth's old START stockpiles, everything from fifteen kiloton town-erasers to fifty megaton city-levelers. Hundreds of cheap hardwired probes had been quickly constructed, unsure just how advanced the aliens were, the bombs loaded and activated with destinations and delivery routes. Using the Mass Relay Network that the Citadel controlled, the group launched its own first strike with the aid of John Martin Harper's legendary speech, now known as the 'Cerberus Manifesto'. Claiming itself a splinter cell from the Systems Alliance meant that government and humanity wouldn't take the blame or the fall as they targeted the worst thing that the Turians would dread; hatcheries. Harper evoked an ultimatum; to cease the stranglehold against the Systems Alliance or the silent probes that wouldn't register a blip on a LADAR screen until it was too late would be sent to every colony the Turians possessed, targeting their children. The Asari were aghast and the Turians enraged as they called Harper's bluff._

 _The first probe hit Taetrus; a dud that impaled the roof of the colony's largest hatchery to prove his point._

 _While no lives had been lost, the Counsel had quickly seen what the newly-named Cerberus was capable of. The Systems Alliance had quickly denounced the group as traitors and terrorists, Fleet Master Jon Grissom himself calling for the heads of every member. It was a stroke of genius in the right direction as the levies and taxation relaxed, and the Turian presence in Alliance Space slowly melted away. When some ultra-conservative human politician wished to restart the FCW by warmongering and defaming on Alliance Forces Network or Alliance Network News, a careful hit was put into play. When there was a pirate raid on an Alliance post that suspiciously looked like Hierarchy work, five pirate raids occurred on a Hierarchy world that suspiciously looked like Turian Seperatist work... armed with human weapons. When a human merchant vessel was boarded for inspections and impounded by Hierarchy, half-a-dozen Turian merchant vessels equally disappeared. Pirate raids began to decrease, embargoes began to lift, and soon there was a Human Ambassador. When the first human settlement on the Citadel had been damaged by a Turian riot, a Turian club had been bombed. When the first human C-Sec Officer had been mysteriously jumped by five Turian 'assailants' too well-armed to be citizeny, ten Turian C-Sec Officers were hospitalized. When a human staff member of the Embassy had been kidnapped, the Turian Ambassador's three children had equally disappeared. The riots, violence, and suppression eased. For every action taken against the Alliance and Humanity, Cerberus met with greater-than-equal force, while keeping the Alliance and humanity from upsetting the fragile peace they needed from truly angering the aliens and blasting humanity into the Stone Age by culling the more violent persons that would only bring ill. Cerberus wasn't an organization of action; it was a response unit. It operated under one ideal; to bring balance._

 _The Alliance, of course, denounced the group every chance it got, labeling them traitors, terrorists, xenophobes and much worse, and it was the perfect cover. Harper, under the guise of the Illusive Man, had quickly become the most-hated man in Alliance Space, doing just enough against the Alliance to prove that Cerberus was not tied to them in the eyes of the non-humans. Yet Harper wasn't a fool; humanity would never beat the aliens. They out-classed humanity in every way; numbers, technology, military, economy, number of colonies, science, research... everything. To supplement humanity's shortcomings, Harper had sought out the Counsels' enemies. Turian Seperatists, Salarian Lystheni Clan, Volus Tribalists, Asari Confederates, Quarian Exiles, Drell Nationalists, Elcor Warbands, Krogan Hunting Parties, and Hanar Radicals, all were sought out by Cerberus to help the organization glean what information it could, to get ahead in ways that the Alliance couldn't and the Counsel wouldn't. Cerberus fought its war in the shadows, using discretion and surprise in its tactics, taking the blame while every advancement was made in the name of advancing humanity to the point where they could be of equal standing with the Counsel._

 _For ten years, Cerberus succeeded in hurting the alien governments while advancing the Systems Alliance._

"...and that essentially is the truth." Captain Hannah Shepard finalized, looking to her adopted daughter, who was looking in the direction of the holovision, but not really seeing it. "I've been a member for years, long before I met you, Jen. I served the Alliance faithfully and honorably for years, but I also aided Cerberus in endeavors that I knew would eventually aid the Alliance as well. Did we do bad, amoral things? Of course. You can't fight a war without casualties, sadly. But we were direct, and nothing we did was sadistic. We didn't kill without reason, and in fact, most of our actions were in response to actions against humanity. When the Salarian Union sent STG Network Infiltrators to destabilize the stock exchange, we sent our own to plummet several valuable research stations out-of-orbit into a nearby asteroid field. When the Asari Republic sent diplomats carrying nerve gas in sealed capsules in diplomatic pouches that were protected by Citadel Law to Earth, we sent several samples of the Ebola Virus to Thessia. We were the counteraction, the balancing act. We were generous to our friends, and absolutely terrifying to our enemies. The Citadel wanted us to fail. We were the sword and the shield to ensure our success."

"Why... why tell me this?" The Marine asked quietly, her face impasse, not even looking to Hannah. "As you said so yourself, you didn't tell me for years, didn't know where to start. It's obvious _why_ you are telling me now, but there wasn't a need to actually tell me."

"Yes, Jen. Yes there was." The Captain motioned to the HV, where once more AFN was bringing up the interview where Lieutenant Colonel Hale announced herself as Humanity's First SPECTRE. "That right there... that's what we've been fighting for. That balancing act, that chance to prove that we can stand among them. You... you're the very thing we've been hoping for for all these years. Not just a SPECTRE... a sign. A hope. A prayer. To either hurt the aliens enough to be on an equal footing, or to elevate ourselves to the same standard. A Human SPECTRE? That is what we want for humanity. To have our voice, to be recognized for our achievements and goals, to be seen as a species of worth and value. You have proved that we aren't like the Volus, the Elcor, or the Drell, all client races. You proved that we aren't defeated, like Quarians and the Krogan. You've proven that we matter, unlike the Hanar and the Batarians. Yesterday... yesterday you were humanity personified. All that we had hoped to accomplish and achieve, you did that on your own."

"Is this the part where you make me an offer I can't refuse?" Hale asked wryly, finally looking over the Shepard, her face still dark. "Where I join Cerberus and its glorious cause?"

"No, dear. Not at all." Hannah smiled, using what she called her 'Mom' smile. "This is the part where I tell you that we are at your disposal."

* * *

Morning came all too soon, in Captain Hannah Shepard's opinion, as she fried some eggs up in a skillet, making eggs sunny side up. She knew that they were Katherine Hale favorite, and Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale liked them well enough. It struck her as a bit odd that she, almost a lifelong spacer, was making a traditional farmers' breakfast for a colonial girl who grew up on a ranch. She tried to imagine what Jen use to eat every morning, growing up on Mindoir. Did her mother cook? Did Patrick? Did Jennifer? Hannah only cooked whenever she was at her Arcturus quarters, which wasn't often, and then usually only when she was visiting Katie or Katie was visiting her. It went without mentioning that she loved the thought of cooking for her only granddaughter, remembering her own grandmother on her mothers' side, Sarah Jones. Grandma Sarah would roll in her grave if Hannah didn't cook for her granddaughter like Grandma had for her. Sometimes, while cooking, Shepard remember the smell of fresh-baked cookies and Grandma's famous Beef Stroganoff. Katie was sitting at the counter, chatting amicably about school as Hannah asked about the things she was learning. It was surprising what the current generation had as an academic curriculum. _Citadel History_ hadn't been a prerequisite when she was a child; hell, they had just learned of the Protheans when she was in High School. What was lost in the process? The Cerberus member in her had to shake her head at that; perhaps that was the point, the Citadel trying to whitewash a species' individuality and culture into some conglomerated mishmash until the only difference was looks and birthplaces. Certainly the Asari were doing well in that regard.

"Morning, Mom." Katie waved at her mother as Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale walked into the main room of the apartment, having slept in the guest room that Hannah had. The N7 had left earlier to go work out, and if Hannah knew her, probably to a firing range as well, coming back to shower and get changed before anyone else was up. Last night had been an informative one for the brand-new SPECTRE, and Hannah wasn't quite sure how Jen was going to handle it. Some things needed time, and Hannah was going to keep her distance until Jen needed her. It was the best thing to do. Looking at her adopted daughter, Hannah handed her a mug of black coffee, which the Marine accepted readily enough, though her blue eyes were hooded and unsure.

"Someone's got bedhead." Hale finally mentioned, rubbing her daughters' hair, making the thirteen year old cry out in admonishment. "Want me to brush it out and make that Crest thing for you?"

"Do you even know how?" Katie asked pointedly, flipping at her mother's constant ponytail. That had Jen snort.

"Your grandmother, Amanda? She was a hairdresser before marrying a farmer." Hale went quiet for a moment, long enough for Katie to place her hand onto of one of her mothers'. Hannah remembered a little of that, Amanda McClaren having owned a salon on Shanxi. "She use to do some pretty crazy things with my hair when I was growing up." The smile on her face was slow and sad, but it was obvious to both Shepard and her granddaughter that Jen didn't mind the reminder. "She... taught me quite a bit when I got older, and I returned the favor. I haven't really done hair in years. Perhaps I can stun you with a design or two."

"This I've got to see." Katie accepted the challenge, making her mother smile genuinely.

"Brush and hair ties are in the bathroom, and I think I've got hairspray in the bathroom cabinet." Hannah offered, flipping one of the eggs. "And Katie? I just want you to know that I've seen some of your mother's work on your Aunt Jane. She is quite good. What was that one called that Jane had for years? Wendy the Welder?"

"Oh God... I hadn't thought of that in years." The Marine smiled big, remembering. "Do you even have chopsticks? Because I can whip that one out in a few minutes. Jannie had me teach her how to do it, and I swear you never saw her without it."

"Oh! I remember that!" Katie smiled as well, her face lighting up. "It's called the Lion's Bun, I think. They named it after Aunt Jannie, though I didn't know it was you that gave it to her, Mom."

"I... she had me do it because it helped me." Jen struggled a little with the memories. "Your Aunt was a Cadet on the _Hastings_ , working a shift on the Bridge as a radar tech while taking Alliance-sponsored classes for her education. I was more or less... useless. One day, I'm blubbering and weeping and somehow slipped out that my mom was a hairdresser and your Aunt just pounced on it, asking me if I knew anything, if I could do her hair. I honestly did it because I wanted to be depressed and mopey and just wanted her to stop bothering me so I whip out the Wendy. Next thing I know, she's practically parading me through the _Hastings_ , claiming that we're going to be the only vessel in the Alliance Military with a dedicated hairdresser. Can you believe it? Next day, I've got the _Hastings'_ Lead Navigator banging on my door, and right behind her is the ships' Physicians' Assistant. By the end of the week, I've done every woman's hair on a carrier, and I've got more than a few men begging me to trim their hair because they said, and I quote, 'don't cut hair like a ham-fisted butcher'." That had Jen smile at the memory, and Hannah remembered that as well; it had been years since she thought about that, actually. "I think the guys did it because there would be a woman involved, and though they'll never admit to it, they just wanted a little bit of pampering. Can't blame them, honestly."

"It worked, didn't it?" Katie asked as Jen grabbed the brush from the bathroom, coming back to the kitchenette.

"Yeah. Your Aunt Jannie found something I could do that made me feel useful, kept my hands busy, and got me involved with others instead of sulking in some dark corner of the Carrier." Hale began brushing through her daughters' hair, long sweeping strokes that had Katie mumbling in pleasure. "I don't hold a candle to your grandmother, though. Mom went to a Cosmetology college and had a degree as a beautician. I... never asked why she decided to become a farmers' wife, why she gave that up when we moved to Mindoir." Jen's eyes flickered to Hannah, obviously thinking of their conversation last night; Hannah actually did know the answer... and Jennifer did too, now. Amanda McClaren had married Patrick Hale not to be a farmers' wife, but because they were both Cerberus. Shepard contemplating telling Jen their role, why they were on Mindoir, but decided to tell her when the Marine had the questions. She might not be ready for the answers, yet. "Anyhow, so I spent almost two years doing hair on a Carrier. Did Grandma Hannah's hair more than a few times, too. Her big thing was a wash that got the grey out."

"Hey!" Hannah called out, sliding an over-easy egg onto a piece of toast, grabbing another toasted slice and making a sandwich out of it and sliding it to Katie. "I thought all that gossiping in a salon was privileged information!"

"Pfft. I certainly don't remember signing any confidentiality forms." The Marine snarked, making her daughter giggle as she began to eat her egg sandwich. "Any you think girls in a salon are gossips? Guys are worse. It's sports, sports, sports with them, but they're just as big lip-flappers as the ladies. I think I learned more about the EUCC and Armax Arsenal League in that time than I ever cared to admit. Probably could still name players from that time, too, along with statistics and memorable plays." Katie giggled again as Jen finished brushing out her hair and began to put it in a top bun as Hannah pulled out from a kitchen drawer two metal chopsticks, setting it down by the brush. "The worst? Seriously, it was Captain John Stamos."

"Really?" Shepard was surprised by that. She hadn't exactly been impressed with the Commanding Officer of the SSV _Hastings_ , who had all but ordered her _not_ to adopt Jennifer Hale, stating that she already had one child. He had absolutely put his foot down on the thought of Hannah trying to raise the then-unborn Katherine Jane Hale on an Alliance Cruiser, stating that it was not a daycare center.

"Yeah, that fu... um, yeah." Jen winced as she tried not to swear around her daughter, only to get Katie to roll her eyes. "Anyhow, he wouldn't let anyone else be in that little closet of a room I used as I played ships' barber, like he was better than everyone else. And then he... he..." Jen had one of the aluminum chopsticks in her hand, Katie's hair in a bun, but the metal stick didn't make it to the hair in question. Hannah found herself looking at the N7, _staring_ at her, and saw the Marine blinking back tears. "Let's just say he was a rather big believer in the _hands-on_ approach."

" _WHAT?_ " Shepard couldn't believe her ears, and her granddaughter frowned, obviously not getting the reference. "He... when?"

"Damn near every time." Jen replied softly, and Katie was looking to her mother, and then to her grandmother, knowing that something was wrong, but she didn't know what. "Told me... it was that or the next dock we hit." Hannah felt absolutely livid, her hands scrunching up into fists, her knuckles white. The same bastard that threatened to kick a rape victim off his boat just because she was using resources that the Sailors might potentially need on the _Hastings_ was molesting her? Threatening to dump her if she said anything? But... Captain Stamos was the man who had signed Jane's recommendation paper for Anna...

 _Oh... oh no..._

"Jen, did... Jane?" Hannah couldn't find the words. Jen and Jane were of the same age, born only a few months apart. Jen was a scarred and traumatized survivor of Mindoir, and Captain Stamos had the gall to molest her? Jane was a beautiful woman, and it hadn't been easy for Hannah to see Sailors and Marines staring at her daughter when they were on ships as Jane was growing up. If he had been doing it to Jen, then he could very well be doing it to Jane, too. She wanted to fillet the man with what Jen had told her, but she was pretty sure she was going to burn the man alive if she found out she had done it to Jane, too.

"No." Hale shook her head violently, enough for Shepard to know that Jen knew the truth of the matter. "Jannie was never by herself. _I_ made sure of it. She... realized later. In Annapolis." The Captain connected those dots together well enough, knowing that Jennifer Hale had a very troubling intimacy issue with men; anything more than friendly chatting had the poor girl quaking and proned to violent outbursts. She had just assume that it had stemmed from Mindoir, but if Captain John Stamos had been forcing himself on her while she had been mentally traumatized and an emotional wreck, it was no surprise why her adopted daughter couldn't stand being around men in a romantic setting. Jane must have figured it out while the adopted sisters lived together as roommates. No surprise there; Jennifer probably couldn't bring herself to trust anyone else other than Jane Shepard at the time, especially when she could only bring herself to find physical intimate and romantic liaisons with other women. Jane... Jane must have covered for Jennifer, Annapolis and the Alliance Military not seeing same-sex relationships in a positive light at all. It was a stupid rule.

"Jen, I'm so sorry..." Hannah didn't know what to say. She couldn't even figure out where to start. "Why... why didn't you tell me? It's obvious you didn't tell Jane."

"He was your Commanding Officer, and I didn't really trust you back then, though that was no fault of your own." The Marine admitted, and Katie, her hair now done, sensed what the conversation might be about as she wrapped her arms around her mother, bless her heart. "The person who did find out was Master Chief Michelle Delacosta."

"The _Hastings'_ Master-at-Arms?" Shepard vaguely remember the woman, a no-nonsense non-com who exuded feminine toughness. She only had a few interactions with the most senior non-Commissioned Officer of the Carriers' security team. If a ships' CO was doing something wrong, it could be difficult to approach one of the other Officers in the vessel, for one could never know if they would do something about it, or even inform said high-ranking assailant. The Master-at-Arms, on the other hand, was under the command of the Alliance Provost Marshall's Office, and technically only _lent_ to a vessel. A ships' Captain couldn't technically order a Master-at-Arms. "You went to her?" Hannah would have rather Jen had gone to Shepard, but that she went to somebody was good enough.

"No, she walked in on it unknowingly several months after..." Hale's blue eyes dropped to Katie. _Fuck_ , Hannah thought to herself. She hadn't thought about that; Stamos had been molesting her while she was pregnant? That was just sick. "She broke one of his fingers, and then reset it, and broke it again. Told him she would do the rest if necessary." Shepard vaguely recalled Captain Stamos wearing a finger splint on the forefinger of his right hand for several weeks. "Nothing happened after that."

"He's... not..." Hannah looked to Katie, who had her face buried in Jen's belly, not seeing the implication. Captain Shepard had never asked before who happened to be Katherine Jane Hale's father, just assuming it was one of the men that had raped her on Mindoir. But she had been on board the _Hastings_ days later, and Jen had been coaxed into being the ships' barber several weeks later. Katies' birthday was just over nine months after Mindoir, but it could be possibly Jen wasn't pregnant that long. If that asshole had impregnated her _after_ what Hale survived...

"No." Jen shook her head, obviously confident of her answer. "It didn't start until after I knew. I think he had a fetish for such a thing, because Master Chief Delacosta was certainly stumped that no one else ever said or suggested anything." The Marine merely shrugged, her face blank. Hannah had seen that face way too many times not to know what it was; Jen's way of just pushing her horrible past behind, refusing to even think about it. It wasn't the healthiest of methods of dealing with such things, but then again, Jen was one of the few survivors of Mindoir that hadn't committed suicide yet. Hannah moved over to the N7 and held her close, her granddaughter nestled between them as she held the Daughter of Mindoir tightly.

"No matter what, no matter what you decide," Hannah whispered to Hale, "I'll always be here for you, Jen." The Lieutenant Colonel hadn't made a decision yet on her knowledge about Captain Hannah Shepard being a member of Cerberus. Hannah didn't blame her or pressure her.

"I know, Mom." The N7 whispered, her arm slipping around Hannah, letting her know that everything was going to be fine. "I had you with me, too."

* * *

A/N: This chapter is meant to better explain Cerberus, and how they are suppose to work, the probe idea was stole from the first game, but meant as a triumph card. I could totally see TIM doing this. Hell, I'd have done it, too. First game they were all _rawr rawr mean_ and then completely flipped with the second game, and then went back to being evil assholes. Confusing.

This chapter was to spotlight Hannah Shepard, who only exists if one were to pick the Spacer background. No other mention of family is mentioned in the other backgrounds, nor any possible siblings or father figure in any of them. John Shepard (Jane's Dad) died during the FCW, effectively making Hannah a single parent that never remarried and raised her daughter on whatever posting she was on. Jennifer Hale, on the other hand, had a father, mother, and an older brother on Mindoir.

Roger Bannister is a real person, and in fact, the first man to run a four minute mile (15 miles an hour, about 24 km/hr) in 1955. It was said to be impossible until the Englishman did it, and in the next year, another dozen men achieved the same feat; proving that it was possible showed others that were equally capable that it could be done.

Wendy the Welder - a hairstyle I stole from the Fallout series. It is a top bun with two chopsticks inserted in a cross to hold it together. Considering I am not a hairdresser, don't expect a lot of knowledge in this area.

Master-at-Arms - I remember reading somewhere (sorry, not all my knowledge comes from Wikipedia as I am very well-read) that Master-at-Arms and Naval Security Teams are actually not under the command of the ships' Captain in case it is the Captain in question that needs a little stick time or a first-hand inspection of a ships' brig. Not that I know how one would earn that save doing something _very_ stupid, but on large vessels (like Aircraft Carriers) anything with personal weapons, landing craft, Marines, SEALs, and other insertion teams, there will be a Security Force and a Master-at-Arms.

I threw out some names here. Amanda McClaren, if you read Mass Effect vs. Aliens or if you've played _Aliens: Isolation_ , is Amanda Ripley-McClaren, daughter of _Alien/Aliens_ Ellen Ripley. Yes, Colonel Jennifer Hale just became Ripley's granddaughter. Just like Shepard was in _Siege of Hadley's Hope_. Captain John Stamos is named after the actor John Stamos from _Full House_ (Uncle Jesse). Why him? ...I don't know, I like the name and he somehow fucked up being married to Rebecca Romijn. John Martin Harper is, of course, the Illusive Man. Martin, his middle name, is stolen from his voice actor, the utterly badass Martin Sheen.


	37. Hale: Reunion

**Hale: Reunion**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

* * *

Chapter 36: Hale, Reunion

Arcturus Station, Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream, April 6, 2183 1027 Arcturus

"Royce! Val!" Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale shouted out as she immediately picked out two of the five people that that debarked the shuttle that had made port on Arcturus Station only a few moments ago. She had been standing there at the incoming docks waiting for the deconn cycle to finish before her best friends exited the craft. Seeing the Melbourne Marauder and the Texas Organ-Splitter never failed to put a smile on her face.

"Shit, Royce. The little hellion went and got promoted on us." Senior Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino (N7) drawled out with her thick Texas accent, an ever-present plastic bottle in her hand for the use of a portable spitoon. The bottle, clear and once housing water, was now partially filled with brownish spittle and dip juices as the Texan put her mouth to the opening and with unladylike grace, tongued out her dip and pushed it through the plastic orifice with her lips and tongue, spitting out the rest of the tobacco residue. "I just might haft ta salute her, now."

"Toss that, blimin' shelia's an N, not some Academy bloke with some stick buggerin' up her arse." Commander Royce Mason (N7) pointed out as he crossed his muscular arms over his muscular chest as they both stopped to look at the Lieutenant Colonel, scrutinizing her. Val squinted and twisted up her features, the older blonde woman's demeanor one of pure grit as she inspected Hale, while Royce simply towered over her, looking down on her expressionless.

"Oh, look! The Sailors are miffed because they see what a real warrior looks like!" Hale exclaimed as her hands went to her hips and she shook her head sadly, giving off a _faux_ -tortured sigh. "Don't I hear the Bosum's Mate calling for someone to go polish a head?"

"That joke hasn't gotten any better, kiddo." Val's face scrunched up, becoming dark and ugly.

"You haven't gotten any younger either, Mama Bear." Hale quipped as the Senior Chief's face broke open into a grin and the two woman moved forward a few steps to embrace one another, both trying to outsqueeze the other until it was Hale coughing outloud and tapping the older womans' back in surrender. "Christ, Val. How many fucking steroids you taking? You're like hugging bricks."

"Don't you be thinkin' I'd be gettin' soft in my old lady years." The forty-year old N7 smiled, displaying teeth that spoke of a life-long smokeless tobacco user. Hale did notice that Stacy seemed a good deal bigger, her uniform tight over her musculature. Val had already been stocky before, but now the woman seemed to peg in at almost a hundred kilos, and most of that muscle.

"What? Papa Bear gettin' no lovin's?" Mason held out his arms, and Hale got a twisted smile as she flicked her knuckles right towards his manly parts, an old game. The Australian-born man jumped back to protect his privates as he squawked out in indignation. "Hey! I'd be needn' those tonight, luv. Can't go coursin' if yer be wackin' me in the jimmies."

"Such an asshole, Royce." Hale hugged him as well, the one and nine meter tall man a monster compared to her own one and seven meter height. It was still good to see them both, the leaders of N Combat Team-28, otherwise known as Team Paul Hogan. The Lieutenant Colonel remembered when she had first joined NCT-28 as a 1st Lieutenant, and had the audacity to ask who 'Paul Hogan' was, since the team was named after him. Royce had answered... in length... and volume... just who the fuck that was. "Is Rhys and Vaz still with you guys?"

"Please, _puta_. Like we'd go anywhere else!"

Hale looked over to see three more N's standing behind Mason and Valentino, two of them she recognized. The first was a lanky man with copper hair and a perpetual sour disposition, Petty Officer, First Class Rhys Lewellyn (N6). Next to him was short and stocky Latino woman, heavily muscled and still wearing her out-of-regulation red bandana as a headband around her forehead, Staff Sergeant Jeanette 'AMF' Vasquez (N7). The last one Hale hadn't seen or met before was obviously the newest member to NCT-28, another short Latino woman, with her dark hair long and held back in a ponytail, her DSU Alliance Blues reading 'Ocampos, R.' on the nametag, rated as a Petty Officer, Second Class (N3). Ocampos looked pretty tough for a baby N3, obviously fresh off the Villa. Hale smiled at the sight of Rhys and Vas as she pulled them both in, grappling them both around their necks and pulling them in for a hug.

"Damn you bastards are a sight for sore eyes." The Marine told Lewellyn and Vasquez, and meaning every word as squeezed them close, feeling the both of them returning the friendly affection. "Miss being with the Team."

"Yeah, well you couldn't come back with us, _puta_ , so we decided to come to you for a change." Vasquez said as Hale stopped trying to hug and strangle them at the same time, seeing her old team together again with her. After she had made her Major, the Office of Naval Personnel had decided that she would be better commanding Marines instead of N's, and she had been reassigned, her first mission being Torfan. After that, she had ended up in Admiral Ahern's Tactical Response Unit in Pinnacle for the next two years, leading the 2nd Battalion. She got to see her friends from time to time, but she hadn't worked with them since '79. Seeing them in front of her...

"You got orders? For me? Or..." Hale looked at Royce, who pulled out a collapsible datapad and handed it to her. Jen took the datapad and pulled it open, turned it on, and saw the orders there, straight from the Office of Naval Personnel, by care of Special Operations Command. She saw the signature for Lieutenant General William Halley at the bottom of the orders, as well as the orders themselves; NCT-28 had been reassigned to Captain David Anderson and his command, with the provisional orders to support...

 _Oh. Oh shit._ Hale couldn't believe her eyes when she read the date of the orders in front of her and then what the rest contained. Ten days ago, Captain Mason and Team Hogan had been ordered to support Humanity's First SPECTRE. With two candidates running around, that would have been fine, but in the orders Royce had given her, then-Major Jennifer Hale had specifically been named as the person in question. Not then-Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer. She saw Grissoms' hand in this. He always did believe in her. But the implication behind it wasn't lost on her. Not that she had any doubt that she was better than Meer, but having more support on her side, especially with friends she knew and trust? After the revelation she had with Meer and her own adopted mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, she could use a little more trust and stability on her side.

"Well, I won't lie, the _Normandy_ needs the bodies." Hale replied quietly, thinking of their losses. The SSV _Normandy_ was now down to ten Marines, six having been medically diagnosed that they would unable to be returned to active combat status. She had lost three-quarters of her combat team, and Hale was going to need people to fill in those slots. Having three N7's and an N6 would go a long ways into filling those holes, especially if she had the N's start training the remaining Marines in SpecOp tactics. They wouldn't learn much in a short period of time, but a few battle drills and tactical exercises could turn the remaining ten Marines into a combat force multiplier instead of the normal run-of-the-mill squad. The good thing was that the number of remaining Marines would actually work well; N's were about small unit tactics, going up to a squad of ten men. "We've got Taps this evening, and we'll be heading out tomorrow morning to the Citadel. Somebody's got to answer to the evil alien overlords and get a nifty little SPECTRE badge."

"Did no one bother to inform the boondockin' Counsel that yer like... the worst fuckin' choice ever t'be James Bond?" Mason asked, looking to the others with a smile. "I bet the fuckin' Hegemony is countin' its lucky stars the Geth is the asshole _de juer_ , otherwise I'd expect yer first act as SPECTRE would be t'declare open war on Khar'shan."

"Am I really that transparent?" Hale tried for innocent and failed miserably. Most of NCT-28 was laughing or chuckling, though Petty Officer Rain Ocampos stayed back a step or two, obviously recognizing that she was the odd-man out for the moment. "So, Rain. What's your rating, Sailor? Master-at-Arms? Corpsman? Combat Engineer?"

"Radar Technician, 2nd Class." The N3 replied, and Hale merely blinked at that. An Ops Alley screenwatcher went N? That was... impressive. And strange.

"Well, considering we're probably going on the offensive against a machine race, I think you either lucked out with your skills, or have the worst timing ever, Rain. Welcome to the _Normandy_." Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale stuck out her hand, and Petty Officer, Second Class Rain Ocampos shook it. "Royce, we're docked in 38, so feel free to mosey over and drop your shit off in the Cargo Bay. Met up with my Platoon Leader and Platoon Sergeant when you get there. Vas will remember the Typhoon well enough."

"Shit." The _Latino_ woman smiled at the thought of Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo. Vas had served under Gunnery Sergeant Maldonaldo on a deployment prior to Hale getting out of Annapolis. "No wonder the Geth got their asses handed back to them on Eden Prime if both you and her were there. That _chica_ probably taught a Krogan how to beg and cry."

"I know, the Gods of the Navy were good to me." Hale replied with a smile. "Anyhow, Taps is at 1800, so you can come if you like, but it isn't mandatory. Award ceremony is at 1900. That's volunteer, too, but both Lieutenant Alenko and Master Sergeant Maldonaldo are getting the Order of Luna for their actions on Eden Prime, and there's going to be some posthumous Medals of Honor, Navy Crosses, and... yeah, someone went and recommended me for a fucking Star of Terra."

"You're... not happy?" Ocampos asked, looking to the Lieutenant Colonel with a little uncertainty. The Star of Terra was the highest award one could get in the Alliance.

"I don't deserve it. I trashed some toasters out in some fields, rescued some Prothean doohickey, and okay, yeah I did dismantle a huge fucking bomb. But my Marines saved at least six thousand plus people in Constant, but probably a lot more than that with their presence, the Geth going towards them instead of hunting for survivors, and coordinating other survivors on what to do." Hale told the N3, making the Radar Technician frown. "For every person who gets some nifty award, there's probably another six to ten who actually did the real work and don't get recognized for it, but humanity does love its heroes, so a nice gold frizbee for me. Contemplating stapling that award to my next Cain shot so when I fire it some Geth ship or tank, they'll really know I do care." That had Valentino laughing out loud while Lewellyn snickered.

"God, missed you, Hale." Stacy slapped Jen in the bicep hard enough that it probably left a hand-sized bruise. "We'll be there only so we can point and laugh."

* * *

"PLATOON... ATTENTION!"

The sound of Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo's voice echoed through Dock 38 as the sixteen-man Marine Platoon stood in a double-line formation, facing inward. Some of the Marines, all dressed in their Dress Blues, having to make it work with casts and bandages, and in the case of Corporal Richard Jenkins, a wheelchair. Despite injuries and nagging Doctors, every one of the surviving members of the _Normandy's_ Marine Platoon showed up for Taps, regardless of pain. Two lines of eight men and women stood (or sat) facing each other with a lane wide enough for a hoverskid to go in between them, though no hoverskid would be used.

"PRESENT... ARMS!"

Hands went to brows in a military fashion as the Marines saluted each other, some having to make do by pulling off their service caps and holding it over their hearts, their right arms too injured to salute as a bugler began to play, a lonely instrument playing slow, a three-note intro that all who had ever served in war in the past several centuries would recognized. Taps began as a tradition for the Federalist Forces during the American Civil War, coming from a French signal meaning 'lights out'. It became the mainstay for funerals in both the Ferderalist and Confederate forces by 1862, and adopted by the Alliance during its inception in 2148. The notes rang loud and brass, as the first metal casket was carried out from the SSV _Normandy_ , six Marines from Arcturus that volunteered for the honor to carry the twenty-four Marines that died on Eden Prime, died saving human lives, died heroes. One hundred and forty-four Marines had volunteered from the Arc for the detail to carry the caskets from ship to funeral barge; a ship designed to carry and transport those brave servicemen who had given their lives in the same of the Alliance. The barge would sprinkle dirt from Earth into each of the caskets, to represent their homeworld, and done the Alliance flag on each body, to represent what they fought for. The Barge would then take the casket and incinerate its contents, the ashes collected and placed into a brass urn and delivered to the next-of-kin, and lacking that, an appropriate church that many congregations throughout Earth and its colonies ensured that there would never be a shortage of responsible caretakers for the remains.

Twenty-four caskets were carried as Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale stood at the right hand end of the line of Marines; as their superior officer, she was suppose to be the last one to see them off. She held her salute perfectly for thirty-five minutes, a feat unto itself, yet she wouldn't settle for anything less than; these men, her Marines, had given their lives to save others. In her mind, there was no more noble cause, the very essence of joining in the Service. She herself had joined to fight for people like herself, those threatened by slavers and pirates. Yet what she had seen on Eden Prime... it had been worse than Torfan, in her mind. The Geth spikes, the sight of people turned into something resembling charcoal, an enemy that felt neither fear nor despite that, her Marines had done their job better than she had expected against such odds. She didn't think the Geth shitty fighters, but there was something off about the way they fought that didn't make sense to her. With such odds, none of them should have survived. A forty-man platoon and a four-man team should have been wiped out within minutes.

When the last of the caskets were finally carried to the Barge, Master Sergeant Maldonaldo called them out to 'order arms', and everyone dropped their salutes as seven Marines armed with antiquated bolt-action rifles stood ready, loading single blanks into their reproduction 1903 Springfields, raising the rifles to their shoulders and firing a volley, working the bolts to eject the spent shell, and loading a fresh one. Fire, unlock, reload, lock, fire. Twenty-one gun salute finished, the Typhoon of Eden Prime finally called everyone to 'at ease'. Hale took one step backwards and went to where her daughter stood, Katherine Jane Hale holding a bushel of white lillies in her arms, dressed in a black dress. Katie took one step forward from the crowd of on-lookers, mostly military and DOD civilians, though there were a few supporting family members from the Arc, as well as both Turian SPECTREs. Both Colonel Hale and her daughter walked towards the caskets that stood at the base of the Barge as Jen and Katie walked to the first casket, the younger Hale holding a single white lillies for her mother, who proceeded to place the traditional symbol of peaceful slumber in death upon the casket. They moved from one casket to the next, placing a lily upon every casket for every Marine. It took them only a few minutes to go to all twenty-four caskets, standing in front of the Barge as the one hundred and forty-four Marines picked up their burdens and carried them to the Barge, the ramp closing behind them, Jen saluting as her daughter placed her right hand on her heart.

"STAND... RELIEF!"

The funeral over, Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale soon became the host for a tight hug from her daughter, Katie holding her as she pressed her face into her mothers' bosom, silently weeping. Jen comforted her as the remaining Marines of the _Normandy_ approached them, all of them standing in front of the Barge as its ramp closed in front of them, all over them saying one final goodbye.

* * *

"Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo, Lieutenant (j.g.) Kiaden Alenko, POST!" Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale called out the Platoon Sergeant and Platoon Leader of her Marines, seeing the Typhoon and the Biotic Lieutenant coming forth from the sixteen-man formation. She had already gone through the Navy Crosses and the Medals of Honor. Every award recommendation had been sent and approved quickly, as the Alliance had learned long ago that sitting on such things was just an excuse for someone at the Personnel Office not to do their jobs in a timely fashion. Master Sergeant Maldonaldo and Lieutenant Alenko stood side-by-side in front of the Marine formation, facing their subordinates as Hale stood to one side, holding a datapad in her hands.

"Attention to orders!" The Marines came to attention once more from the position of 'at ease'. "The President of the Systems Alliance recognizes one Master Sergeant Paula Evelyn Maldonaldo of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps and Lieutenant, Junior Grade Kaiden Raphael Alenko of the Systems Alliance Navy for their actions and bravery displayed upon Eden Prime, leading a platoon of Marines assigned to the SSV _Normandy_ and elements of the Eden Prime Colonial Army, Eden Prime Colonial Sheriffs' Department, the Constant Police Division, and the Eden Prime Colonial Militia, did so willingly and knowingly defend the lives of the citizenry of Eden Prime, whose true count will never truly be known to those among us except God. For their actions, leadership, and bravery, they are hereby awarded the Order of Luna, dated Five April Twenty-One Eighty-Three, signed Adam Holstein, Commander-in-Chief, Systems Alliance."

Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale watched as Captain David Anderson came forth with Petty Officer, Second Class Sarah Halvorson at his side, carrying a tray with two midnight ribbons with a large silver medallion hanging from each, depicting Earth's natural satellite. The Commanding Officer of the SSV _Normandy_ took the first ribbon and clasped it over the neck of Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo, the medallion resting just under the necktie of her Class Blues. Award in place, both Captain Anderson and Master Sergeant Maldonaldo saluted each other at the same time, and then shook hands before the Black Fox moved to Lieutenant Alenko, draping the medallion just under the Biotic's neck tie of his Dress Whites. Again, the awarding of the medal was finalized with a salute and a handshake, and when Hale called out for the Marines to stand 'at ease', she gave the Marines to applaud the awardees, and everyone in attendance began to cheer and clap for the the Master Sergeant and the Lieutenant. There had been a turn-out of several thousands for the award ceremony for the members of the _Normandy_ , mostly due to the news reports and the Invasion of Eden Prime, but for her own award as well. The applause definitely had Kaiden blushing, Jen noted as she gave the Biotic a reassuring nod and a smile. She remembered her own award ceremony for her Order of Luna; unfortunately, it hadn't been nearly well received by the dozen or so that had showed up, none willing to celebrate an award for the woman labeled 'the Butcher of Torfan'. That had bothered her considerably at the time, especially since her adopted sister hadn't shown up, having gone missing a few weeks later.

Jane Shepard's last words to Jennifer Hale had been that she had never wanted to see or hear from her again.

"Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale, POST!"

The voice of Captain David Edward Anderson rang out as the N7 Marine took a deep breath, hoping that her own Dress Blues were still perfect (a thought she must have had a thousand times already even though she knew they were) and moved forward to replace Master Sergeant Maldonaldo and Lieutenant Alenko, who rejoined the platoon formation. She found herself looking at the sixteen faces of her remaining platoon, standing before her in formation, and she felt nervous, like she hadn't earned what was about to be bestowed upon her. Only five had ever been issued, and she was about to receive one herself, the highest honor that one could be bestowed upon a member of the Alliance Military. She had every right to be nervous.

She just wished that there wasn't so many cameras and reporters looking at her right now.

"Attention to orders!" The voice of the Black Fox was loud and clear, years of command giving him the experience to he heard from long distances, through battle and situation. "The President of the Systems Alliance recognizes one Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Roselyn Hale of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps for her actions and bravery displayed upon Eden Prime, expressing uncommon valor and heroism by willingly and knowingly leading a special insertion team comprised of a member of the Alliance Navy, two Counsel Agents, and a Colonial Soldier, to secure and defend a Prothean Data Beacon from the hands of enemy Geth. During this action, it is noted that Lieutenant Colonel Hale led her team across enemy-held terrain with only a four-man team, rescuing the sole surviving member of the Eden Prime Colonial Army 2nd Battalion, 12th Infantry Regiment, secured the Constant Spaceport while temporarily blinded from a headshot, secured the Prothean device, and single-handedly deactivated a fifty megaton Anti-Matter Device in under a minute with one second to spare. Such exemplary behavior is above and beyond such normal actions of her fellow Marines, Sailors, and Soldiers, accomplishing her mission against incredible odds, and sparing the life of every man, woman, and child in Constant within a fifteen kilometer radius. For her actions, leadership, bravery, and going above and beyond the common call of duty, Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Roselyn Hale is hereby awarded the Star of Terra, dated Five April Twenty-One Eighty-Three, signed Adam Holstein, Commander-in-Chief, Systems Alliance. Sir?"

And lo-and-behold, in walked the President of the Systems Alliance himself.

Lieutenant Colonel Hale stood as ramrod straight as she could as from a side door of the Ceremony Room that was used in Arcturus Station for promotions and awards of large-caliber walked in President Holstein, flanked by no less than half-a-dozen Presidential Protection Agents, armored in matte black Kassa Fabrication's Colossus Heavy Final Line Armor, carrying Sabre Assault Rifles usually only available to N's, moving together as a team as the sixty-seven year old man they protected walked without pause straight towards her, a box made of mahogany grown on Earth in his hands. Hale tried not to look at the President as he walked towards her, a man who had been responsible for the forming of the Systems Alliance itself, back when he was a junior Senator in the old US of A's Congress, a part of the Senate Sub-Committee of Space Exploration. It was then-Senator Holstein who had written the original proposal towards the thought to bring the twelve most powerful nations together to take advantage of the new-found technology that had been discovered by NASA on Mars with the help of scientists from other nations, as well as the knowledge that they was life in the galaxy at one point in time. President Holstein had served two consecutive terms, had bowed out of a third, and then ran again for the next term. He was now on his second term of his second set, fourteen years of running the Alliance with a mere four year break. If there was a man said to be Fleet Admiral Jon Grissom's equal, it would be President Adam Holstein.

And now the very man she had swore her Oath to as a Commissioned Officer was standing right before her.

"Today," the President began, everyone in the room standing, not a word said as he spoke, "today we honor our brave men and women, as we should honor them everyday. The galaxy has its dangers, and we have the Alliance Navy and the Marines, the Colonial Army and Air Force to thank for our protection. There are days when their job is vigilance. There are days when their job is vengeance. There are days when it is up to us to show them the gratitude they deserve. Today, I am proud to say, is one of those days.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hale is a name we all know," he continued, "a name that has been soaked in sorrow and tragedy. We have called her the Daughter of Mindoir. We have called her the Bane of Chattlry. We have called her the Butcher of Torfan. But these are mere names compared to the woman who rose from such tribulations, to answer a higher calling, to be there for us when we needed her most. I find it interesting to note that of all the abolitionist groups, of all the militaries in the galaxy, of all those who call slavery wrong and immoral, that Colonel Hale hold the highest amount of rescued persons from that institution in the entire galaxy. Just one person. Our history is fraught with examples of how far just one man or woman can go when the cause is strong enough, when they believe in it strong enough. Colonel Hale continues that tradition with righteousness and zeal, and I am proud to say that I have lived to see such an example.

"When I first heard about Eden Prime, I was filled with a cold fury." Hale was actually surprised to see the President blink back tears. "That such a blow came to us made me think of the Oath I took when I first was elected to this office eighteen years ago. I swore to uphold and defend not only the Articles of the Systems Alliance, but the people who lived within its borders. I felt... such a failure, that something could catch us unawares, like Mindoir and Elysium. Yet when I heard of the actions of a mere forty Marines fighting for Constant, rescuing the innocent, protecting their fellow man, I was filled with both pride and humility. That I could call such men as a part of my race made me joyous beyond belief, and inadequate for being related to them. Our enemies struck, and our brave men and women held the line, and did not give an inch. Colonial Soldiers on Eden Prime using desperate hit-and-run tactics against an enemy that outnumbered them a hundred-to-one. An N7 leading such a small team to recover an ancient artifact that was our enemy's objective. A platoon gathering survivors to hold out, to defend the innocent with their very lives. Is that not what makes us strong? Is that not what makes us great?

"I saw a picture of that bomb that Colonel Hale defused... with a mere second of time remaining until detonation. Seeing that picture? That made me sweat." There was a quiet chuckle among the attendees. "Think about it; sit on a bomb meant to level a countryside, watching the time tick away as you try to stop it, seeing the seconds count away. I'm not afraid to admit that I wouldn't have been able to have done it. Yet that did not stop Colonel Hale. The colony was saved. Constant had fifty-thousand souls living in it before the Geth invaded. Thirty-two thousand people owe their lives to a Marine. _We_ ourselves owe a great deal to her. It is because of this that I award Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Roselyn Hale the highest of awards that I can bestow. I fear it is a pale shadow to the debt that a great many owe to you, Colonel, yet let it be sufficient enough to show to you the respect we have for you." With that, President Adam Holstein opened the mahogany box, and laying upon a bed of red velvet, was a light blue ribbon adorned with a golden medallion big enough to use as a coaster, stamped with the relief of Earth upon it. "Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Roselyn Hale? I award to you the Star of Terra."

Captain David Edward Anderson held the mahogany box as the President pulled the award out, holding the ribbon in both hands as he clasped it around Hales' neck, setting it next to her Order of Luna so that both medallions were seen. The Marine couldn't stop the tears that began to pop from her eyes, and she could see the Black Fox unable to stop his as well as he practically beamed. The ribbon was set, and the President took a small step towards her.

"When you reach the Citadel, SPECTRE," the President whispered for her ears, and her ears alone, "you make sure that whomever you meet looks you straight in the eye... and not downward. Understand me?"

" _Yes_ , _sir_." Hale whispered fiercely, emphasizing it as best she could without being obvious about, having to fight back her tears. She saluted him sharply, and he saluted her in return; not some sloppy ass shitty civilian salute, but a crisp military salute that would be proper for any Marine.

"Make us proud, Colonel." The President nodded to her and stepped away, dropping his salute. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you Counsel Agent, and Star of Terra-winner, Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Hale."

The applause was thunderous as everyone began to clap and cheer, the shouts and yells wild and without abandoned as Hale finally let herself wipe away the tears. There were thousands of voices and pairs of hands joined in adulation as Jen found herself being the center of attention in a way she had never been before; as a hero. The first person to reach her was her daughter, Katherine Jane Hale, running in a straight beeline towards her mother, giving her a hug as Jen wrapped her arms around her only child, kneeling so that they could embrace each other fully. As she held her daughter, she could see Captain David Anderson clapping his hands, nodding towards her, while Master Sergeant Paula Maldonaldo was whistling with her fingers in her mouth. She could see Captain Royce Mason and Senior Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino rooting for her. She could see Lieutenant (j.g.) Kaiden Alenko and Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams standing together, applauding side by side, while Captain Hannah Shepard smiled at her. She even saw Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik there, dressed in their formal Counsel Agent robes, both of them nodding their heads in praise. The sound of thousands of people applauding her had Hale weeping as she held her daughter tight.

Today was the day for there to be just one less thing to be fearful for.

* * *

A/N: Commander Royce Mason (N7) and Senior Chief Stacy Valentino (N7) are old OC's of mine, going back to the Battle Series as well as Valkyrieverse. I've worked too much with them not to include them into the H/M'universe, and Val promised me that she would demonstrate the 'Organ-Splitter' if I didn't comply. So the Melbourne Marauder and the Texas Organ Splitter have returned.

Sergeant Jeanette 'AMF' Vasquez is a familiar face for both Valkyrieverse and the movie _Aliens_. The _mal-cula puta_ is back as a member of an N squad, still carrying that M-56 Marshall around.

Petty Officer, First Class Rhys Lewellyn is an old OC of mine that never got used in either the Battle Series (it died before he was introduced) or in the Valkyrieverse (he was honorably mentioned a few times). He was originally going to speak Welsh, but due to the difficulty of the language and the fact that trying to read it is like trying to perform brain surgery with a chainsaw... I nicked the idea, and he just uses phrases instead of talking it.

Petty Officer, Second Class Rain Ocampos I stole from the movie _Resident Evil_ , and borrowed from Valkyrieverse. Why is such a badass chick a Radar Technician? Technically, _anyone_ in the Navy can apply for the SEALS, including screen watchers. That might actually be preferable, as that requires a good deal of expertise and technological know-how, as I understand it. Anyone can shoot a gun; technosavy is not a universal skill. So to answer your question, a Radar technician knows how a radar works... and how to avoid one. Infiltration, anyone?

Paul Hogan - The actor who wrote and played 'Crocodile Dundee'.

Lieutenant General William Halley - A two-star General and in charge of Special Operations, anyone from the Vietnam Era might remember the name of Lieutenant William Halley, Jr., the Lieutenant in charge of the 1st Platoon of the 1st Battalion, 20th Infantry Regiment, responsible for the Mu Ley Massacre where hundreds were executed. I've mentioned him once before in Mass Effect vs. Aliens 2: Valkyrie Rising, where Shepard mentions that she doesn't want to be remembered like him in Chapter

Timelines - the timelines in Mass Effect are a little... strange. Commander Shepard (a commissioned officer) can be a part of the Raid of Elysium in '76, which if born in 2154 and going to Officer Candidate School at 18... would mean she graduated in 2176. Torfan is in '78, and supposedly Akuze is in '79. I shifted these a little bit, and Elysium is in the beginning of '77, and both Akuze and Torfan are mid- to late-'79, since the Skyllian Blitz started with Elysium, and ended with Torfan. In keeping most Alliance Military matters in line with the American military, and borrowing some from the British, Canadian, and Australian Military (as I've worked alongside them from time to time).

While a good deal of the military funeral is based on the US Military funerals, I made a change in the actual burial itself, turning it more into the old Viking tradition of a 'river craft cremation' that many did in the past. Since we've never had a man die in space, how such an ordeal will be handled will probably end up something from Star Wars or Star Trek. Carbonite?

I mention the difficulty of holding a salute for a long time. I've been to more than enough military send-offs to know that it gets physically difficult to hold one for a good period of time. Dropping one during a funeral walk, on the other hand, is a surefire guarantee that you will get your ass kicked hard by about a dozen service members or so. Someone gives their life for their country, the least you can do is hold your goddamn arm up for twenty minutes or so.

I also mention something about the awards process. For anyone that's ever had to write an award (I hope others had it easier than I did in the Army) it can be a righteous pain in the ass, as I know for a fact my S-1 Personnel Office didn't have one English-speaking person in it (seriously, three Haitians, two Chinese, and one Peruvian and no one could understand a word anyone said. Just how the fuck did that work out?). I learned long ago that the awards process is quickly greased when you go to some high-ranking individual to sign off on your award instead of being some buck Sergeant trying to pass off a Bronze Star with Valor; don't believe me? Just ask around.

While I tried making the award ceremony like a real award ceremony (minus all the standing around and waiting that occurs), the awarding of the Star of Terra is nothing like the awarding of a Medal of Honor in several regards. The MOH is usually awarded right at the White House by POTUS, with crowds of thousands, a bunch of media, and takes quite a long time to award; there is a complete and separate committee who reviews any MOH recommendations. The standard for such is 'one who distinguishes himself conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States.' Basically an action of uncommon valor and heroism, witnessed by two living witnesses, minus grenade jumpers, who generally are awarded with very little in the way of fuss for obvious reasons. Generally, MOH awardees still in service are shuffled off (at least from combat zones) as they become very tempting targets that will have their unit suffer. Major Robert Swenson is the only living service member still on active duty with a Medal of Honor. It generally can take up to two _years_ for the award process to be completed, though Major Swensons' was awarded some four years after his action due to 'bureaucratic mishaps and oversights'.


	38. Sonata: Sezefine

**Sonata: Sezefine**

 **DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to** **theorangeguy's** **'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.**

Chapter 37: Sonata, Senza Fine

The Vanguard, Unknown System, Nemean Abyss, April 8, 2183 1503 Zulu

 _"You drag our life_

 _Without a breathing moment_

 _To dream_

 _To be able to remember_

 _What we have already lived._

 _Without an end_

 _You are a never-ending moment_

 _You have no yesterday_

 _You have no tomorrow_

 _Now everthing is in your hands..._

 _Large hands_

 _never-ending hands._

 _I don't care about the moon_

 _I don't care about the start_

 _You for me are the moon and the stars_

 _You for me are the sun and the sky_

 _You for me are everything_

 _All that I want to have_

 _Never-ending..._

 _Never-ending..._

 _My time moves slowly_

 _Gliding across the veil of my nude soul_

 _If I should cross the border you made for me_

 _Maybe I would not be here._

 _But now what sense does it make_

 _To try and embrace a more pristine past?_

 _Looking forward I will take the risk_

 _But I'll finally find answers to my why's._

 _All that you will be_

 _Has already been written_

 _If He truly exists_

 _This God has failed._

 _Every word pronounced_

 _Will be the mirror of your pain_

 _Reflecting the blame_

 _Feeding the hate._

 _I'll choose my destiny_

 _If I'm able to resist._

 _I am still standing in this moment of pure madness_

 _I don't know anymore if I should desire good or evil_

 _although sin maybe gives me more._

 _Now what sense does it make_

 _To try to resist a written destiny_

 _I'm not going to sit back and watch_

 _without trying to resist you._

 _Waking me up_

 _Wake me up_

 _I'll choose my destiny_

 _If I'm able to resist._

 _Waking me up_

 _Wake me up_

 _There's no life without me_

 _There's no choice without me."_

The Exemplar stopped singing softly and began studying the vidmonitor with electric blue eyes as she sat upon the Throne.

She watched the vid that was captured from the Alliance Forces Network, a recording that played in front of billions of viewers over Alliance Space, and undoubtedly Counsel Space as well. She played it from the beginning and watched it through its entirety several times over, always looping it back to the start, to see the great spectacle that was captured by the machine race, the signal easily intercepted and collected, rerouted to the location of the great vessel. She had been watching it for hours.

Humanity finally had a SPECTRE, and her name was Jennifer Hale.

Commander Jane Shepard lounged upon the Throne, ignoring the burning sensation that seared in her veins and crawled through her mind, fighting for her last portion of self to see what her adopted sister had accomplished. Star of Terra winner. Counsel Agent. Surrounded by friends and family, applause and cheers. Shepard remembered when that was her, once; a previous life. Seeing Jen there, raised to a height even greater than her own, filled the Commander with a fierce pride that the Vanguard was trying to interfere with.

"I love you, Jen." Jane whispered, her hand going to the holographic screen, breaking the image as she tried to to the image of her sisters' face, to reconnect with the woman she had adopted as a teenager, whose hand she held through pain and sorrow. To think that Jennifer Hale was where she was today because of Jane... who would have known? Who would have guessed that the Daughter of Mindoir would one day be Humanity's First SPECTRE? Now she was at the center stage of the entire galaxy, with all eyes on her, the leader of their very race, the only one of her kind. Humanity didn't deserve her, but there was no doubt in her mind that her sister would do them proud, anyhow.

Unfortunately, they were now enemies.

"She looks well." Doctor Liara T'soni spoke softly, standing beside the Throne, looking upon the vidmonitor with red and teal eyes, though her voice was still her own... for now. "She has much to be proud of, Jane. As do you."

"Not for much longer, I'm afraid." Shepard sighed as she shut off the loop, the screen disappearing into the frame of the monitor, now a hollow shell. "It is only a matter of time before her vision makes sense to her and she speaks to someone smart enough to give her a direction or destination. Jen has made a career being on the offensive, and being a very successful underdog. Any other opponent I could have gutter-stomped and splattered across the Briars like a rotten tomato, but her?" Shepard went silent, placing her chin on her fist as she rested her elbow against the Throne. "She would have easily been my equal, before the Vanguard. Even now, she may stand a chance. She is relentless, a crusader that will never give up. Sometimes, I really and truly wonder if there is indeed a God, and He looks over Jennifer Hale. A lesser being would have been killed or committed suicide long ago."

"While we may never know the answer to that particular question, we are not without our own crusaders." The Protheantologist reminded Shepard, who nodded slowly. "The subject is finally ready, Shepard, despite her persistance stubborness. A warrior of her caliber is rare, and now that she is Exalted, she is more than capable enough to handle anything thrown at her. Including Humanity's SPECTRE. It would... be less painful for you if you were to delegate this to her."

"I know. I disapprove, but you are correct." Jane sighed as she looked over to the subject in question, seeing the being impaled upon a spike, the nanocytes that flooded her system converting her, exchanging her organic tissues into something different, something more. She was still mostly organic, but now there was a network of microscopic wires and machinery running through her organs and systems; musculature, skeletal, skin, lymphatic, respritory, circulatory, and nervous. She was improved, perhaps three times as effective as before, and she was by no means something to scoff at before. With over five hundred years of combat and hunting experience under her belt, the subject was the perfect candidate to ensure their success by removing Jennifer Hale from the equation. Even a serious injury would do.

But Shepard had something else in mind.

"Use this." The Commander handed a sleek pneumatic round that held inside of it a small slurry of metallic liquid, able to fire from a Heavy Pistol, to the Protheantologist. "Awaken our subject and give her the memories she needs to complete her mission. Perhaps in a week or two, Jen will no longer be our enemy, but our ally."

"Nanocyte round?" Liara asked, seeing Shepard nod her head. "You would convert her to our cause? You were leery before."

"That was before my sister became a SPECTRE in front of God, the Alliance, and the fucking Counsel of Three." The Commander replied darkly, disgusted. "She could garner too many allies, forcing our hand, denying us avenues. If we can discredit her and gain her to our cause, she would be very valuable to us. It... it would be good to have her by my side again." The redhead whispered to herself, though she knew T'soni heard. "The galaxy has shit on Jen again and again. She shouldn't be the one that finds herself the forefront of resistance against the Kin. I don't want her to shoulder that burden, to become some sort of desperate messiah fighting against the coming storm of this Cycle. She... she doesn't deserve that Liara. She deserves peace. We can give that to her. Awaken the hunter."

Liara moved to the subject impaled upon the spike, her cyan-colored hand touching aquamarine skin, the very fine scaling of Asari flesh almost easy to miss, even amongst their own kind. The spike lowered to the pod it extended from as the naked Asari fell to the ground, unconscious but breathing as the Protheantologist placed a gentle hand upon the Matriarch's brow, her teal eyes going dark as the redness of her corneas remained.

"Embrace oblivion!"

Shepard watched as the Asari Maiden transfered memories to their subject, an Asari that Shepard herself had captured some months before. The Matriarch had been a handful, and as good as advertized; Thessians had legends about her kind, and they weren't unfounded. Such a prize would be wasted on a mere exchange to something so simple as one of the Exchanged, so Shepard had the subject turned into one Exalted; advanced, enhanced, filled with the Influence yet still cunning enough to think like an organic. The subject shook as Liara gave her the necessary memories, and when the Protheantologist was finished, the Matriarch slowly opened her eyes, sapphire eyes that began to fill with red, the Influence taking her over. The subject stood before them, unabashed about her own personal nudity, looking upon the Exemplar that sat upon the Throne; her master.

"Exalted, I have need of you." Shepard spoke, turning on the vidmonitor once more, freezing an image of Jennifer Hale. "Find me this woman, and shoot her with this Nanocyte round." Liara gave the round to the Matriarch, who looked at it for a mere moment before nodding. "I must warn you, this woman is a danger to our plans, and while I prefer she be on our side, kill her if no other option is likely. Can you do this, Justicar?"

"It shall be done." Samara replied.

BOOK I, _FINE_

 _A/N: Senzafine (roughly translated from Italian as 'endless' or 'never-ending', and the song itself is translated from the same language) is by Gino Paoli._

 _Senza fine (also, 'Endless' in Italian, as is the song) is by Lacuna Coil, KarmaCode's special edition album._


End file.
